The Sting of the Yellow Dart
by Geheimnis
Summary: COMPLETE! You name it, we've got it - the charming Dread Pirate Roberts, Monty Python in drag, a singing Elijah Wood and of course, Johnny Depp - join these and more in the quest for Will's father!
1. Cash, News and Tortuga

The Sting of the Yellow Dart  
  
~Gehemnis~  
  
A/N - I don't own any pirates, apart from the ones made of Lego that I get at the dollar store. But I ~am~ a pirate, and a fine teller of tales. So let me entertain you with one that I think is going places.  
  
For Mel's birthday. Yer a foine cap'n.  
  
Chapter One  
  
"Epics always begin in the middle o'things, love!" the pirate cried, his voice nearly drowned out by the clash of sword-metal on sword-metal. "That is 'ow one can tell they are truly worthy of one's time - they waste none of it!"  
  
"If it's all the same to you, Jack," a female voice replied amidst the din, breathless with effort, "I would just as soon have time for pause and a breath of air. There is something to be said," she went on, "for the tale that one reads in the comfort of one's own ship!"  
  
But whether or not Captain Jack Sparrow responded to Captain Melanie Cash's quip was not known, because both of their voices became lost in the noise of the skirmish that had erupted on the streets of Tortuga. To call it a battle would not be fair, for a great many contenders were not armed with swords; though to call it a brawl would be no more fair, for a great many contenders had them. In any case, the whole of the thing had enveloped not only one ship's crew, but two, along with an uncountable number of transients who - in proper Tortuga-esque fashion -conveniently included themselves in such an evening event.  
  
  
  
Evening it was, and shimmering with sultry warmth. The remaining sun glinted off sword and wielded scrap of metal alike as both joined the fray. The air - heavy now with sweat and curses - had been a gentle caress, timid enough not to stir up the debris gathered in the streets, but with just enough spirit to lift and toy with the hair of the ladies who, for the most part, were removing themselves from the scene in great haste and great numbers. At any other time, Jack Sparrow would have leisurely enjoyed such an evening of rest with his crew as they paused at this harbor. Their last venture had earned them much in the way of silver and good spirits. A Robin Hood he was certainly not, but on occasional days it sat more pleasantly with the captain to encounter a ship loaded with pay for traded slaves than one on an honest crossing. He and his mates had retired for a time to Tortuga to relax and wait for word of similarly ripe vessels.   
  
  
  
Unfortunately, Tortuga was generally known for being far from a place of rest and relaxation. It had been exactly six hours since Jack's crew had docked, and already a misplaced hand on the wrong thigh had caused the Hound's Tooth Pub to erupt into a chaos that had joyfully spread out into the street and attracted the participation of many a passer-by.   
  
  
  
"I see two futures for us, me fine fellow captain," Jack called out. "We can make ourselves scarce, an' talk for a while in more civil quarters, or continue to grace these strapping gentlemen with your presence. 'Ave you a preference?" He sidestepped a blow from a heavy-set man with an eye patch and strained to hear. Melanie Cash, though, was not far away.  
  
  
  
"This company does seem attractive," she cried, and Jack could hear her voice punctuated with jabs from her blade. An unlucky combatant let out a rasping cry of surprise and defeat close by. "But perhaps it is best to seek some solitude," she finished, finally coming to stand beside him.  
  
  
  
Upon seeing her he inclined his head, allowing his eyes to stray low to the hem of her skirt before raising them to meet hers. He took her by one hand and, with the other, created an exit from the fray much like a tribesman hacking before him with a machete in the jungle. The tide of bodies parted, allowing the pair to take their leave and disappear instead into an inn further down the road.   
  
  
  
"Your crew?" Melanie began, sheathing her sword as Jack cast a reassuring look and nod in the worried innkeeper's direction.  
  
  
  
"That lot? They'll be fine, love. This is not their first time in this lovely little town, and after an evening as pleasant as this one, it shall no' be the last."   
  
The two seated themselves at an empty table in a quiet corner where the continuing sounds of the street could not quite reach. Melanie removed her hat and adjusted the scarf on her hair while Jack reclined in his chair, studying her in the candlelight. "You 'aven't changed a bit, fair Captain," he said with the ghost of a smile. His eyes traced the smooth line of her jaw and the curtain of hair about her shoulders.  
  
She caught and held his gaze. "None o' that, Jack. I've been down the road where talk like that leads. I'm here on business."  
  
"Care to venture down it again?" he murmured, leaning closer. Then he stopped. "Hold up there, lass. What sort o'business could you possibly 'ave in mind?"  
  
"I bring news from an old friend. A friend in Port Royal."  
  
Jack thought a moment. "I've a good number of friends in ol' Royal. Some older, some younger, some at an in-between and rather awkward age -"  
  
"Some in need of urgent aid," she finished. "And one named William Turner."  
  
A/N - Come, come good people! Read and review and ye shall ne'er be disappointed. 'Tis a slower start, aye, but shall we see what the 'morrow brings, hmmm? 


	2. Sparks with Flint

Author's Note - Me again. I don't own any pirates. I don't own any Disney movie that was made about pirates. I do, however, own a pirate hat and a love of all things swash-buckling and all things Johnny Depp. I hope my story does them both justice.  
  
Another Author's Note - This story contains my own characters. Rather a lot of them, actually. This is because it is a future birthday gift for a friend and for my own personal pleasure. If you dislike this idea, don't read. If it doesn't bother you, any comments or criticism you have you will be greatly appreciated. Isn't that the point of this wonderful website? Read and review.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
It was only when his opponent's blade cut neatly through his parries and halted a breath away from his throat that Will Turner began to sweat. He eyed the unwavering tip warily, and let his own sword-arm fall loosely by his side. He raised his eyes, and met a pair that glinted with glee, and, Will decided after a moment to catch his breath, far too much confidence.  
  
He dropped deftly into a crouch and swept his opponent's feet out from under her with his leg. She landed hard on her back on the floor of the blacksmith.  
  
"Watch the blade," Will said, standing to place a triumphant boot firmly on her chest. "My eyes are not my weapon."  
  
"Your blade," she growled from the floor, "was still because I had beaten you." She rolled from under his heel and onto her feet. Grudgingly, she allowed him to take her sword and watched as he turned to fix both blades into their places on the wall.  
  
"A duel is never over until someone lies still, Dana." He felt hard metal pressed suddenly into the small of his back.  
  
Dana Flint poked him again with her pistol and grinned. "An excellent point, blacksmith. But there is something to be said for how quickly a good gun will bring that stillness about instead of one of your pointed sticks."  
  
Will laughed over his shoulder and raised his hands in mock-surrender. "Despite your great love for your exploding sticks, you are quickly becoming passable with a blade." Dana chuckled, and tucked her pistol into her belt.  
  
"Of course I am. I beat you, didn't I?"  
  
~  
  
Evening deepened over Port Royale, and the dark of the night sky was kept gently at bay by the brightly lit windows of the Poco pub. Not here were the violent, raucous crowds of Tortuga, although some evenings - especially those that followed routine and uneventful days - Will found himself wishing otherwise.  
  
This particular evening he walked down the road to the Poco, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. He was meeting Dana Flint for a meal, but that was common enough. Since her arrival in Port Royale several weeks prior, he had found in the young gun-maker an eager fencing student, and one with open ears as to the doings of the port. Also, it was nice to have a friend in Elizabeth's absence. Dana would ask if he had received word from the friend that he had sent for, but she always asked him that. And he would tell her that he hadn't. Neither should have been out of the ordinary, but this time was different.  
  
This time he was worried, because now an impossible amount of time had passed since he should have heard from Jack Sparrow.  
  
Will pushed open the Poco's door and slipped inside quietly. Words from Will were hardly necessary, as the air around him was brimming with those and drunken brays of laughter from Poco's regular patrons. He spied Dana at a small table near the wall opposite him, sitting with her boots up on the table and idly toying with one of her pistols.  
  
"Hardly the place for some late-night gun work," Will offered with a grin and slid into a chair. She winked at him and gestured almost imperceptibly towards a nearby table with her chin.  
  
"A fine gentlemen from that table has been paying me rather a lot of attention." She smiled slightly. "I'm attempting to persuade him not to continue."  
  
Will looked in that direction, and a large - very drunk - redheaded man was blearily eyeing Dana's pistol with something a few degrees shy of fear. Its metal glinted quietly in Poco's dim light, and she began to twirl it about her fingers with an unmistakable air of mastery.  
  
"I think he's got the message."  
  
"Well I'm glad. Barely a few months in this port and already I'm being sniffed after by the local wildlife."  
  
" And 'oo says you 'aren't a bit o'wildlife yourself, eh?" a voice crooned over Dana's shoulder. Will looked back in time to see their regular server, Carine, swipe Dana's boots off the table. "Wif manners like tha', Ah wouldn't be surprised to find you in a zoo!"  
  
Dana obligingly tucked her gun away and sat up straight, then wrinkled her nose at the steaming dishes that were set in front of them. "I wouldn't like being in a zoo very much, Carine. You might decide to put me in one of these stews."   
  
Carine looked shocked. "There's naught wrong wif me cookin'! An' besides, if it weren't for me, this place wouldn't be 'ere at all. It's me 'oo balances the ledgers and keeps track o'everythin' what's important."   
  
"And don't think we're not grateful," Will replied and picked up his spoon. "But changes in the menu every now and then might be a good idea, don't you think?" Carine smiled graciously at Will and leaned down, revealing a generous eyeful not-quite-by-accident.  
  
"You aren't developin' a taste for a bit mo' spice now are you, Mr. Turner?" She inhaled deeply and wound a dark curl of hair around her finger. "What wif the gov' and tha' little daughter o'his gone for a bit, the rest o'the port's been takin' quite the naugh'y little vacation." Will cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
  
"I think what Mr. Turner means," Dana interjected, "is that we'd appreciate a round of rum." Carine straightened with a huff and cast a dark glance in the gun-maker's direction, but she turned to fetch their drinks. "Methinks the predators are out in full force tonight, William," Dana said with a quiet chuckle.  
  
"Isn't it a shame that we're such easy prey?" Will replied with a smile as he started into his dinner. He watched Dana pick up her spoon and begin to twirl it around each finger as she had the pistol. She made no move to touch her dinner. Her opinion on Carine's cooking had been an honest one. "But all these weeks in Port Royale, and you haven't seen anyone that strikes your fancy?"  
  
Dana laughed and shook her head. "Can't say that I have. But if we're speaking about new friends, I am very much looking forward to meeting this sailing friend of yours. Heard from him yet?" Will sat back from his bowl with a sigh.  
  
"No, and I'm beginning to worry. It's been too long."  
  
"How long?"  
  
Will closed his eyes in thought. "A few months. Actually, I sent for him not long after I'd met you." He opened his eyes. "You haven't been in Port Royale more than three months, have you?"  
  
"Not more than that, no."   
  
Will made a gestured helplessly with his hands. "It doesn't take that long to travel to Tortuga and back."  
  
"Tortuga?"  
  
"Tortuga," Will agreed with a slight blush. How exotic and exciting that place had been compared to home! There had been no quiet in that port, and it was precisely the quiet that was beginning to wear on him here at Port Royale. The quiet and the waiting. "Tortuga is a ... different sort of place. There's people from all over the globe there. And all of them are drunk and loud. Actually, it resembles that zoo that Carine would like to put you in," he added as the serving girl placed their mugs on the table with a flourish.  
  
Carine swept up Dana's bowl, not seeming to notice that the meal had been left untouched, and smiled down at Will. "'ow does it taste, then, darlin'?" Will offered up his empty dish as answer enough and Carine beamed, leaving with a swish of her skirts.  
  
"Her food isn't all that bad, you know."  
  
Dana shrugged and took a swig from her mug. "That's not why I come here. I come for the sparkling conversation."  
  
It was Will's turn to wrinkle his nose at the warm alcohol that had been set before him. He nudged it towards Dana with a finger. "You know that I don't drink."  
  
"I do, and that's also why I come. Twice the rum that I can drink, and a gallant young man to point me in the direction of home after."  
  
Will laughed, forgetting for a blessed while the worry that had been weighing on him. "Take it easy there. I want you up bright and early tomorrow to practice some more." Dana drained her cup and reached for his without pause.  
  
"There's naught to worry about there, Master William. I'll beat you easily with my eyes closed and a headache." 


	3. Holes in the Door

Author's Note - I don't own all of these characters. All I own is a knack for storytelling and certain scallywag-ish tendencies.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The time just before dawn were the only blessed few moments when there existed something akin to peace and quiet in Tortuga. Instead of raucous curses and bawls of challenge, there was only the gentle moan of those that had been severely inebriated the previous night. Instead of the clang of sword metal on scrap metal, there was the welcoming crash of breakfast dishes by morning patrons. Instead of the aroma of alcohol claiming the morning air ... well, there was no changing some things.  
  
All of these sounds and smells tiptoed through the open window of Jack's inn room as he lay in bed just prior to morning. The air stirred the atmosphere just slightly and began to hint at the promised heat of the day. Jack slept bare-chested and barefoot, his blankets long kicked to the floor, with his hands folded behind his head. He was murmuring softly.  
  
By no stretch of the imagination may it ever be said that if Jack were to wake up alone in the morning after taking an exquisite bit of company to bed the evening before, that it was due in any way to a lack of skill on his part between the bed sheets. Quite the contrary. Jack often woke to find himself alone in the morning because he constantly spoke in his sleep. It was in such a solitary state that he awoke that morning, though this time, it was because he had gone to bed alone.  
  
Pity, Jack thought.  
  
Well, there were ways to remedy being alone. Jack rose and opened his door without bothering to dress. He padded softly down the dark inn hall to the room where he had said goodnight to Melanie Cash, and cracked open her door. With a gold-tipped smile, he closed it softly and made to inch towards the bed where she lay sleeping with her back to him.  
  
A floorboard creaked, and he found a dagger reverberating in the door beside his ear.  
  
The door, he noted, in keeping with the standards of Tortuga's establishments, was marked with similar holes.  
  
Melanie's eyes glittered from a nest of blankets, her bare, still-poised arm the only part of her that was exposed. "I don't take kindly to morning intrusions," she grumbled.  
  
Jack pulled her knife from the door and dropped it onto her pile of clothes. He stretched out on the blanket beside her. "It's not even mornin', love."  
  
"Then what brings you to my room?" Melanie inquired through a yawn. She settled herself back into her blankets. "You can't seriously have any playful intentions." Jack shook his head with a chuckle.  
  
"Not this time, darling. I know you've got more sharp little surprises where that first one came from."  
  
A smile from Melanie Cash. "I'm glad we still understand one another." When Jack made no move - to leave or otherwise - she sighed loudly. "Why are you here, then?"  
  
Jack wiggled his bare toes. "So that the audience can catch up."  
  
"Audience?"  
  
"You know, love, 'all the world's a stage' and all that. Got to keep'em up to speed."  
  
"Has that quote even been ... quoted yet?"  
  
Beat. "Well, British colonialism came after Shakespeare."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Has it occurred to you that we may in fact be wasting time, Jack?"  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"Time while Will is waiting for you?"  
  
Jack sat up and looked at her. "Look, lass, just try to understand that it's all a bit much to get through me hat at once. I'aven't seen this boy in years, nor have I received so much as a cordial letter."  
  
"Have you sent him any letters?" Melanie asked. She propped herself up on one elbow.  
  
"I'aven't sent any ladies after'im pleading mysteriously fer'elp, if that's what you mean." Jack paused. "I'm not saying that I'm not going to'elp him, Melanie. I'm just trying to put together what's been happening."  
  
"All Will told me was that he'd received a letter, and that it was about his father."  
  
The captain shook his head and his beads clinked together. "Bill's dead." Melanie shrugged. "I knew Bill, Melanie. He was a decent fellow. One of the most decent that I've known. It makes me sad that'ee died - and I'm sure Will was disappointed to learn about his death after his search for him - but that doesn't change the fact that'ee's gone."  
  
Melanie gave him a hard look. "Listen. I don't understand everything that's going on. Will just hired me to find you and ask you to come back. But after the things that you've been through, after what you've seen, is something like this so difficult to believe?"  
  
Jack didn't answer.  
  
"At least go and talk to the boy. I'm sure he wouldn't have sent for you if it wasn't for a good reason. After all," she winked, "my services don't come cheaply." Jack allowed himself a wry smile.  
  
"Well do I know that, love."  
  
~  
  
Gibbs had ordered a few stiff drinks for himself after meeting Jack and Captain Melanie Cash for breakfast that morning. It was not that she had been frightening or rude, for Gibbs had found Cash to be a very agreeably spirited young woman, and it seemed to him that she and Jack were as close to kindred spirits as two such scallywags could hope to be.  
  
Neither did Gibbs have any objections to her physically - though she had not spoken to him about her past, the years he rightly assumed she had spent at sea had brushed her skin with a dusky russet color that he found very appealing. She was lithe and moved with a grace that Gibbs had never thought possible of a weather-toughened brigand like himself. She had laughed often and musically, and - thankfully - her teeth were even and white, not capped with gold like Jack's. Gibbs had always found such a flashy effect rather unsettling.  
  
No, none of these things about Melanie Cash were what had caused Gibbs so much unrest. He mulled over it as he sipped another ale. No, she had seemed a fine woman. But that was the rub of it - she was a woman, and not only that, she was a captain. A captain whose sails Jack had evidently decided they would be sailing under for a time.  
  
Jack had proved himself to be as mad as they came, and Gibbs ordinarily had no quarrel with Jack's brash decisions. But this was beyond all those.   
  
Dreadful bad luck this was, he thought, and emptied his mug. 


	4. Will's Letter

Author Here - I don't own these guys, but I've got a plastic sword *brandishes aforementioned sword*.   
  
Chapter Four  
  
~~Your father lives. Set the sparrow before you and follow its flight.~~  
  
Will refolded the letter and placed it gently inside its envelope again, careful not to disturb the remains of the red wax seal. He knew its words by heart, but to read them - to see them written by a foreign hand - brought a racing to his heart just the same.   
  
Alive.   
  
When Will had first received the letter some handful of months ago, he hadn't believed it. He had read it in disbelief and had dismissed it with little thought. Bill Turner was dead, he had painfully reminded himself, and forced himself to recall that he had come to terms with this. Even when setting out from England as a child to find his father, he had not held so much hope as a dull desire in terms of being reunited with him. To learn of his father's death while on the Black Pearl had only confirmed what he had feared - and secretly anticipated - for a long time.  
  
And so he had set the letter aside, and it was only by pure coincidence, by meeting Dana Flint as she strode into his new smithy near the docks, that he had looked to it again. It had been interesting, he recalled, that Flint and this letter had come so close together. A sign if he had ever known one was what he had decided. As they became friends she showed a great interest in his exploits with Jack and the cursed pirates that had been their foes. By forcing him to recall and rethink those adventures did Flint inadvertently lead Will to his letter again.  
  
He had seen such things - fought such things - that it was clear there was more to the world than was to be seen in an English suburb or dockside in a British colony. He had recalled his belief, and so days after dismissing the letter, Will had taken it up again.  
  
The envelope was battered and weatherworn, as though it had traveled many leagues in order to reach him. The red wax had borne the seal of a winged stag, a unique signature whose peculiarity that had given Will pause upon seeing it the first time. The letter inside, in contrast to the envelope, was crisp and white. A simple, small square of paper, it bore in neat script twelve words that were now beginning to change his life. And on closer reflection, it was not difficult to assume what the 'sparrow' was truly in reference to.  
  
So Will had set about finding Jack Sparrow in the hopes that his old friend would have more information for him. It had been a long time since the two had exchanged words, and Will found himself missing Jack. The man, for all his swaggering and underhandedness, had proven himself an amiable companion. Will was also interested in whether or not Jack had traveled to fetch back the rest of the treasure on the Isla de Muerta, a direction that he had surely been headed in when the Black Pearl had easily out-cruised Norrington's chase party those few years ago.   
  
Captain Melanie Cash had been the first step. It was not difficult to contact the pirate lady as her sister was always close at hand. He recalled - with a wince - Carine's strong reminder to him that he owed her a favor in return for contacting her sister, but Melanie had come. It had seemed that the sisters were not only alike in appearance, but also in a playful fondness for the young blacksmith. Melanie had agreed to search out her old shipmate and bring him back to Port Royale.   
  
And now Will waited. It had been months.  
  
In the meantime, he reminded himself and moved to the window to gaze out at the gentle sea, waiting had not been a waste. Dana Flint eagerly listened to all things pirate-related, and her thirst for an education with the sword had kept Will in good form - a part of himself that he may have neglected otherwise. Yes, there was fine companionship to be found in that girl.   
  
His eyes lingered on the ocean and the evening sun that it reflected. The ocean ... if he had learned anything from his exploits with Jack, the most important of those things had been about the pirate that was in his blood. He believed that now, looking out at the water. The water ebbed and flowed regularly and gently, like the beat of a heart, and Will fancied that he could feel his heartbeat compliment that of the sea.  
  
Moved, he sang to himself softly:*  
  
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,  
  
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.  
  
West, west away, the round sun is falling.  
  
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling ...  
  
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,  
  
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling.  
  
He stood quietly for a moment simply listening to the sound of the waves, when he heard a movement behind him. Dana Flint had cleared her throat softly.  
  
"That was very pretty, Will."  
  
The blacksmith shrugged and did not turn. "Something I heard long ago." She came to stand beside him at the window,  
  
"You speak like an old man sometimes."  
  
There was a small chuckle. "I don't mean to. I just don't like when things are out of my control. I'm frustrated sitting here so helpless. If my father is alive, and hasn't come to me, then I have to go to him. I can't do that without Jack."  
  
Pause. "He'll come. I'm sure of it."  
  
*A/N - I think most LotR readers would recognize where Will's song is from, but if you haven't read Return of the King, then shame on you! Anyway, here's the official disclaimer: I didn't write the song, the much-admired Mr. Tolkien did, and it fell originally from the lips of the prince of Mirkwood, bless his immortal heart. 


	5. The Cast and Crew of the Yellow Dart

Author Here - I've just finished watching my Pirates of the Caribbean DVD, and while I won't tease you with the next chapters like Jack teases Gibbs with his mug before giving it to him (in a scene in Tortuga that SHOULD HAVE BEEN KEPT IN THE MOVIE), chapters are on their way. Please do read and review.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Melanie Cash's ship was a fine one. She could be called a merchant ship only in the sense that she had been one once and did her best to masquerade as one now in order to pursue her more furtive and profitable career as a pirate vessel.  
  
She had two masts, both of which plunged upwards as though straining to reach the early morning sky. Her bowsprit extended from her bow like a horn, gently bobbing and nodding as she rode the swell of Tortuga's harbor. Her hull was black, giving her a lustrous look and an intimidating air that was complimented by her sheer size. Carved beneath the bowsprit was the figure of a swooping bird, painted bright yellow. The outspread wings of the screaming bird were painted so as to darken and blend gently into the dusky hull of the ship.  
  
Her name was the Yellow Dart.  
  
Melanie strode on ahead up to the deck of the Dart, leaving Jack and Gibbs behind on the gangplank. The two men stood and regarded the ship, not unimpressed by what they saw.  
  
"She looks to be a pretty enough boat, Jack."  
  
"Aye," Jack mused. "That she is."  
  
Gibbs leaned closer. "Tell me again why I'm to be comin' with ye."  
  
"Because, my good and trusted chum, the rest of our crew reclines in Tortuga. And so they should - it is a fantastic place for putting up one's feet if one minds how many one had to begin with. But you and I, friend, we have business."  
  
"And what business be that, Jack, on pretty Cap'n Melanie Cash's pretty boat?"  
  
A small smile crept across Jack's face. He stroked his beard. Gibbs had seen this look before. "I like this ship," he began, and held up a finger. "But more importantly, I like her captain. A man could do a lot with a first mate like that."  
  
"But I thought you'n Cash knew one another," Gibbs said, puzzled. "What's in yer head that she'd give up all o'this just to sail w'ye?"  
  
Jack caught his friend's eye and smiled fully. "Jack Sparrow's got his ways."  
  
Before Gibbs could reply, Melanie strode back down the gangplank towards them, her boots striking the wood loudly. She stopped just above them and swept her arm grandly. "Thank you for your patience, gentlemen. May I be the first to welcome you to the Yellow Dart. Do not let your eyes be fooled by her glossy exterior, for her heart beats pirate blood and she has the teeth and grit of a scallywag, not a meek and tamed merchant vessel." Melanie smiled. "Many a purse has been taken by my hand, but many more troves have been taken by hers, and I pray many more will follow. So welcome and come! Drink and meet with my crew - in any order, Jack." It was here that she winked. "And we shall haul our anchors from the fine sands of this port."  
  
Jack bowed graciously, and he and Gibbs followed Melanie up the gangplank and onto the deck. She led them to a line of sailors that stood before the mainmast, and Jack noted that they were talking animatedly amongst themselves. He also noted the mugs in their hands and the barrel of ale in their midst.  
  
"Might I present," Melanie said in a loud voice, causing all heads to turn, "Mr. Sparrow and Mr.Gibbs. They are to be our traveling companions until we reach Port Royale. They are our important traveling companions," she added significantly, and Jack decided it might now be possible to let his guard over his gold pouch among her crew relax. Slightly.  
  
The sailors formed themselves into some semblance of a formal line as gulls cried aloud overhead. There was little wind and no cloud. The early sun cast a white glow onto everything and everyone. It was difficult to distinguish the faces of the sailors, but Jack estimated there were about fifteen hands in total, and at a nod from their captain, a handful stepped forward.  
  
"Michelle," said the first and tossed her hair. "I act as the log-keeper and scribe in the absence of Carine."  
  
"Carly," offered a small, brown-skinned waif, and offered her hand to both Jack and Gibbs. There was a capuchin monkey on her shoulder with its tail curled around her neck. The monkey made Jack shudder in spite of himself. "I'm in charge of our certain ... secretarial duties when it comes to gold pieces." She winked. "All o'them honestly acquired, o'course."  
  
"'Course," Jack agreed warmly.  
  
"Monica," another introduced herself. Her eyes were large and green. Jack found himself blinking several times. "Chief look-out."  
  
Melanie gestured to the others, who removed their various hats and all politely inclined their heads. "And the rest," she said. "Fifteen hands in all." Fifteen hands, saw Jack, all of them sea-weathered and browned. Fifteen hands; all of them fine-limbed and nimble-footed. Fifteen hands; all of them observing he and Gibbs cheerily.  
  
Fifteen hands. All of them women.  
  
There was a crash on the deck beside him as Gibbs fainted dead away.  
  
~  
  
"To my credit," Gibbs woke to hear Melanie saying, "He hasn't seen my first mate and that may yet provide him some comfort." He heard Jack's laughter and opened his eyes to find himself propped up against the mainmast. Melanie and Jack were standing close, watching him good-naturedly. The ship rose and fell gently on the water, and when Gibbs sat up fully, he could see that Tortuga's bustling harbor had shrunk behind them.  
  
"We've set off then, 'ave we?" he asked, and struggled to stand. Jack, still smiling, offered him a hand.  
  
"Aye, that we have, my good friend. Nothing but blue water until Port Royale."  
  
"We've set sail," Gibbs continued, incredulous, "with a crew of women." He shook his head and spied Melanie with her hands on her hips and her eyes twinkling merrily. He gulped. "Beggin' yer pardon, Cash. There ain't nothin' I've got against womenfolk, but - "  
  
"But they're bad luck on boats," she finished for him. "Well, Mr. Gibbs, it appears you're in a bit of a bind then. You see, we have weighed anchor already and set off, and you are here with a crew of women." Gibbs nodded, looking slightly seasick. "However, I know how to counter such bad luck. If the man aboard a woman's ship is a man with his own ship, and his ship has got a woman who isn't on the ship he's on, then the bad luck of the women will balance and be no bad luck aboard a ship at all." Jack turned a chuckle into a cough.   
  
Gibbs seemed speechless. "Aye," he said after a pause. "Methinks that'll about do it."  
  
"And if that doesn't," said a new voice behind them, "perhaps I can help." Jack and Gibbs turned to see a slim blond man emerge from below deck. He was tall and fair, and Jack was mildly puzzled as to how one with skin so light could possibly seem so at home on a pirate vessel.  
  
"This is Matthew," Melanie put in as the man shook hands with Jack and Gibbs in turn. "He is my first mate, and a finer doctor I have yet to find."   
  
Gibbs held onto the young man's hand like a life-ring and shook it vigorously. "I be pleased to be meetin' ye, boy. Very pleased indeed." 


	6. A Little Bit of Introspection

Author's Note - Introspection time!  
  
Chapter Six  
  
The young blacksmith worked well into the night, ignoring the growing fatigue in his arms and the ache in his hands. Illuminated only by candlelight, Will's smithy was silent, save for the rhythmic pound pound of his hammer and the gasping of air in and out of his lungs.  
  
His work had improved greatly since Elizabeth had gone back to England, and Will couldn't help but wonder.   
  
Elizabeth was beautiful and determined, and he had no doubt that she had a great future ahead of her. She cared greatly about him, had gone to great lengths to save him, and he had been thrilled that a woman whom he had loved so secretly and deeply had returned his affections. They had been happy when they had parted ways with Jack. But things had begun to change.  
  
Her father had never been pleased, had never accepted what Will and Elizabeth had believed they shared. His flippant and cutting remark on the tower had stung Will profoundly, though at that time Elizabeth had seemed not to notice. 'Just a blacksmith' had resounded in his ears for a long time following that, and he was starting to think that it had in Elizabeth's too.  
  
Will flipped over the sword on his anvil and hammered the other side all the harder.  
  
Their adventure together had made them very close, but it had also proven Elizabeth to herself. No longer did she find it so easy to accept a life of pouting in carriages and tight-fitting dresses. She had grown, and while Will had been thrilled, there had also been a recklessness revealed in her. She had held her own against pirates and monsters and emerged unscathed - what ties then did this woman have to anyone or anything? How could she sit and be wooed when her soul had begun to yearn for freedom and glorious independence? What could Will provide her but the comfort and careful care that her father had given her and that she had yearned to escape?  
  
Losing Elizabeth seemed a very plausible thing, but Will was slowly discovering that it was not as painful - or undesired - as he had thought. Like her, he had lived a sheltered life under the watchful - when not bleary with drink - eye of the blacksmith Browne. Elizabeth had always been there, a beautiful and untouchable dream. His eyes had never strayed to another But now he was beginning to feel as though the world was a larger place, and that there was more.  
  
So much more.  
  
He stopped his labor suddenly and opened wide the window that looked out to the harbor. Evening wind cooled his sweat-soaked shirt and the water whispered gently against the docks. He did not know what he would say to Elizabeth upon her return. He did not know if she would return to him as the woman that he had loved as a child. There had been something in the wind these last months, and Will could sense that things were changing. He could not say that he was disappointed. 


	7. Fogbound and Followed

Author's Note - I'm writing this chapter while listening to the cast audio commentary version of the Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring. Ever heard of the show? *winks* I just thought I would mention the incredible-ness. And the incredible-ness of Pippin.   
  
"Wot's that?"  
  
"This, my friend, is a pint."  
  
"It comes in pints?! I'm gettin' one."  
  
*cackles*  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Going from Tortuga to Port Royale was by no means a long or draining voyage, but patience tended to wear thinner as fog grew thicker. The Yellow Dart had been immersed in fog since the first evening she had set off for Port Royale, and now the trip that ordinarily took a handful of days to pass did not seem to be making way at all.  
  
Jack stood alone on the forecastle deck, looking into the fog. The wind was slight, and not enough even to stir the braids that lay about his shoulders. The mist off of the water moved about him, but seemed hesitant to touch his browned skin. The light from the sky was muted and all around was gray, without shadow, and motionless. Jack could barely feel the ship moving under his feet.  
  
As a general rule, he did not mind the fog. But also as a general rule, he was captain on a ship and not a passenger. Cargo, he corrected himself with a wry smile. I'm not even a passenger this time - I'm to be delivered. I wouldn't be surprised if she had Will sign a slip for me. The sounds of the ship rasped all around him. The sails and rigging shuddered overhead but caught no wind. Jack sighed.  
  
"That the mighty and fearsome captain Jack Sparrow has no patience, I simply cannot accept," came Melanie's voice behind him. She ambled onto the forecastle deck and came to stand at his side. "Sailing is not for the impatient."  
  
Jack snorted. "I have known precious few pirates who do not yearn for the clash of sword and the chill of coin. It is something to be felt in a pirate's very bones. Anything that stands in the way of those things is to be impatient about, I think."  
  
Melanie smiled and shook her head. The few beads woven into her hair jingled against one another softly. "Well it is my ship, and I would feel terribly if it were somehow my fault that you were not having a good time. I did pluck you out of Tortuga after all, and no man can be called bored in Tortuga. I feel responsible, and so I have decided to do what I can to help."  
  
"To prevent me from being bored, eh?" Jack mused. He turned to look at her, and let his eyes drop low. "And how might you do that, Captain Cash?"  
  
"In the proper fashion of Tortuga itself," she answered.  
  
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Well I must say that I didn't expect such ... recreational time with you cap'n, but I can't say that I can refuse the offer of such a lady ..."  
  
"Excellent," she said, and unsheathed the sword at her hip. "Then we will duel!"  
  
"Duel?"  
  
"What other activities could possibly hold the attention of a man such as yourself in Tortuga?" she asked with a knowing wink.  
  
"None less honorable than this, I can assure you, madam," Jack replied grandly, and unsheathed his own sword. "Though I believe it only fair to let you know that - "  
  
"Cap'n!" The first mate's cry rang out over the deck and Melanie turned, her sword still in hand.  
  
"What is it, Matthew?"  
  
He appeared at the bottom of the forecastle stairs and was short of breath. "We're being followed, sir."  
  
Melanie's eyes lifted from her first mate to study the line of the horizon beyond him and the dark shape that had barely made itself visible there. She frowned, and turned back to Jack with a gracious bow. "My apologies, Jack. It appears that duty calls." She sheathed her sword. "Although, I suppose it's for the best. There's not a man alive that can match a Cash with a blade."  
  
Jack sheathed his own sword and tipped his hat to her. "That, my dear and courteous captain, remains to be seen."  
  
"Let us hope then that it shall not have to be proven on this day," she replied, looking back and squinting at their apparent pursuers. She and Jack followed Matthew back to the helm while Melanie extracted a telescope looking glass from her skirts en route. The three stood at the deck's rail, and what Melanie saw when the glass was lifted to her eye made her start. Jack saw the jump.  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
"A better question would be whom." Melanie let the looking glass fall to her side and her face was strained.   
  
"Don't tell me that ship carries who I think it does," Matthew said in a quiet voice, and Jack saw the lad was even paler than usual. The pirate, weary of the game, slipped Melanie's telescope from her hand and put it to his own eye. From what he could make out through the fog, they were being pursued by a ship similar in size to their own. It was really nondescript, Jack thought, and its only interesting features were its black sails. He couldn't see what was on them, because the lack of wind made them as lifeless as the sails of the Yellow Dart, but the ship was making good time on them nonetheless.  
  
"Well it's a pirate ship, isn't it?" Jack asked and continued to study it. "What've we to fear from fellow brigands?"  
  
"I didn't say that we had anything to fear!" Melanie snapped and snatched back her telescope. "If we are clever as we go about this then there won't be a reason to be afraid. That, Jack, is the ship of the dread pirate Roberts*. I'm sure a sailor as salty as you has heard something about the fellow."  
  
"Aye," said Jack with a golden smile. His eyes became far-away and dreamy. "The dread pirate Roberts. Never leaves any survivors. A man could admire a pirate like that."  
  
Matthew rang the bell for the assembly of all hands. "People don't go around getting such colorful words as 'dread' put in front of their names without ample reason," he said gravely. "Captain Roberts isn't a man to be trifled with. He has no respect for camaraderie between pirates - a vessel for the taking is a vessel for the taking. It would probably have helped us to pass by," he said pointedly in the direction of Melanie, "if we were not so neatly clothed in the guise of a merchant ship!"  
  
Faster than Jack's eyes could follow, Melanie removed a knife from her boot and brought it close to Matthew's nose. The crew had come together, and watched in silence. "There's a lot of things that I'll tolerate from a young man such as yourself, my lad. You've got a pretty reign as both first mate and doctor. I'll listen when you open your pretty mouth, but don't think for a minute that your words bear any weight with me," she said quietly, "and a word against my ship isn't one of the wisest."  
  
Gibbs had wandered over with the crew, and he caught Jack's gaze. The pirate captain raised his eyebrows and Gibbs did the same. They had not detected this side of the fair captain.  
  
"Now listen, you bloated swine," Melanie shouted to the crew. "The monster that each of you had under your beds as children has come to be. Roberts is real and has caught wind of us." There was a muted gasp amongst the women, but Jack noted with a measure of pride that each of them still stood bravely. Here he had found faithful hands before the mast.  
  
The captain of the Yellow Dart continued. "Far be it from me to tell you that I did not know he lived, for I did. But I will not cultivate fears. Roberts may be a real man, but he is only a man, and though I cannot say that we have survived worse - " her voice was steady and strong, "I will proudly say that after this day. Can we do this?"  
  
The women cheered, and Melanie turned to Jack. "I hate to ask this of a guest on my ship, but if worse should come to worse...?"Jack smiled broadly and Gibbs did the same.  
  
"What had I been saying earlier about the clash of sword, love?"  
  
* Boy, do I ever love roping other classics and dragging them kicking and screaming into my own story. I very much hope that you've read The Princess Bride - which is a fantastic book that is not by me - because it is one of the best fantasy novels in the world. It's also hilarious. And if nothing else, rent the movie. You have not seen sword-fighting until that day.  
  
"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." 


	8. Paradise: Compliments of Roberts

Author Here! I don't own pirates, from the Caribbean or otherwise. I don't own Wesley - though it would be nice, rrrrowr! - and I hope he doesn't mind that he was borrowed for a bit.  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
It was over before it had begun, really. The entirety of the battle lasted just long enough for all parties concerned to break the slightest of sweats, and as Jack stood there, unarmed, with the tip of the dread pirate Roberts' rapier lying along his collarbone, he started to get chilly. It would be nice, he decided, if this infernal fog would let the sun come out.  
  
What had happened after the dread pirate Roberts had boarded the Yellow Dart? What a ridiculous question! Of course there was a grand and epic swordfight and battle with glorious scenes smoky with cannon-fire and wrought with the singing of steel in the air. It was just the type of fantastic, expensive-to-film-and-time-consuming-to-choreograph scene that fills audiences and readers alike with a sense of awe and a burning conviction that piracy is clearly the lifestyle of choice. It was just type of scene that you can't wait to see or read again: suspenseful yet wildly entertaining. It was just the type of scene that truly allows one to see the mettle of these scallywags, and illustrates the grandiose lifestyle they lead on the open ocean.  
  
It was just the type of scene that a sleepy English major who has to remember to feed her fish before she goes to bed can hardly be expected to write.  
  
So.  
  
"It would seem the day is mine," said the dread pirate Roberts. He smirked under his black mask, and his blue eyes flashed to where Captain Melanie Cash stood gagged and bound. She narrowed her eyes at him with silent rage.  
  
"But you see my dilemma," he continued. "The dread pirate Roberts never leaves survivors. After all, once it's got out that a pirate's gone soft, it's nothing but work, work, work all the time." He withdrew his sword and leaned against the mast. He surveyed the crew of the Yellow Dart, who were standing in a crudely surrounded little group with their hands in the air. "Yet you are all pirates, as I am. Now, while I have no quarrel with looting you for all you are worth, it would be rather uncouth of me to kill you. Too much like cannibalism for my taste."  
  
"If it weren't for these pesky pirate brands of ours, you'd be home free, wouldn't you, eh?" Jack piped up. "Awful shame about them."  
  
The dread pirate Roberts smiled thinly. "Yours, my salty friend, is all too easily removed." He gestured to Jack's forearm and the puckered, pink 'P' burned into his skin. "One well placed chop and that's the end of that." He made a sudden slicing motion. Jack gulped.  
  
"But your fine captain's brand is in an altogether more inconvenient location." Indeed, the front of Melanie Cash's shirt had been torn just enough to reveal her telltale pirate scar. It was over her heart. "And that, Mr. Sparrow, is not so readily taken off. It appears that we are at an impasse. I cannot kill you, but neither would it be prudent to allow you to live."  
  
"If it pleased you, sir," Matthew piped up from the gaggle of the defeated crew, "you could just drop us off on an island somewhere, you know, along the way. We wouldn't be dead, but neither would we be able to tell about how you've gone ... well, not soft, but ... we wouldn't be able to tell anyone how you've gone and found yourself a conscience of sorts."  
  
"An island," the dread pirate Roberts mused.  
  
"Oh it would be really horrible," the little wench Carly put in. The monkey on her shoulder was hiding its face in its tail in fear. "All those bugs ... nothing to eat but coconuts and leaves ..."  
  
"Don't forget the sunburn!" Monica the look-out added, and the entire crew nodded together. The dread pirate Roberts considered for a moment, then smiled.  
  
"Well then, it looks like we've all agreed - "  
  
"No, no, NO." Jack stepped between the dread pirate Roberts and the crew. "No islands. No beautiful sandy beaches. Couldn't you just keel-haul the lot of us or something?"  
  
The dread pirate Roberts laughed and put a gloved arm good-naturedly around Jack's shoulders. "My dear Mr. Sparrow. Where would the irony be in that?"  
  
~  
  
"Come now, Mr. Sparrow. Try and smile - you're not dead yet." Jack looked down at the water from his vantage point on the Yellow Dart's plank and did not feel at all comforted. He could swim, obviously. He was fairly an otter in the water. And the water wasn't cold - they were in the Caribbean. And it wasn't as though he had a long way to swim. But what waits for me after that nice little swim in the warm Caribbean? he asked himself ruefully.  
  
A nice warm little island. Again.  
  
"Everyone else has already jumped," the dread pirate Roberts said reasonably. "You don't want them to think you're afraid, do you?"  
  
"Not in the least," Jack murmured, his eyes on the water.  
  
"Then I think it's about time you set off. You've got some bug-eating and sun-burning to do, and I really am keen to get started on the pillaging of your ship. So if you would be so kind as to be off then - " he finished, and stomped on the wooden plank.  
  
Jack's hands weren't tied, and so he hit the water with ease enough and began to swim towards the island's shore. The rest of the Yellow Dart's crew was already standing - haggard - on the beach when Jack trudged onto the sand. No rum cache this time. No smart-mouthed governor's daughter either.  
  
"Finally," Carly said, and shielded her eyes with a hand to look over Jack's shoulder at the two ships. "I thought he'd never get around to leavin' us here."  
  
Jack glared in the young pirate's direction and started squeezing the water out of his hair. "And where's the good in this, eh? I could spit and hit the other side o'this island. What're we supposed to do?"  
  
"Well, what're our assets?" Carly asked him calmly. "We've got them pistols that Mr. Roberts was so kind to supply us wif. That's a start."  
  
"Excellent," muttered Jack. "All the better to kill myself with."  
  
"I really don't know what you're so grumpy about." Melanie was pulling off ribbons of seaweed that had become tangled in her hair and offering them to Carly. The waif was weaving with them. "I'm sure even you have been in worse situations that this." She shook the water from her hat.  
  
"I've had my ship stolen, yes. And I've been stranded on more islands than I care to count," he replied.  
  
Melanie snorted.  
  
"Well, two."  
  
Melanie raised her eyebrows.  
  
"Well, twice on the same island. But my point, fair captain, is that both times I was very fortunate and had luck smile on me in order to escape. I see no such opportunities here."  
  
"Sometimes you don't need luck," Melanie said. "Especially not when you have a crew like mine." She pulled a parchment and pencil from the pocket of her tanned jacket and began to scribble something on it. Carly, humming, finished her weaving and strode into a thicket of trees. The captain continued. "It's really quite interesting how intelligent these tropical birds are."  
  
"What's that got to do with anything, love?" Jack was perched on a log and pouring the water from his boot. He poured for a long time. "That is, apart from the fact that they've got beautiful plumage?"  
  
"Plumage doesn't enter into it, my lad," the captain said with a wink. "But it is quite a feat when you combine the innate intelligence and playfulness of certain tropical birds with the rather, unusual gifts of a certain crewman." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder and Jack looked up in time to see Carly emerging from the trees. She was carrying something.  
  
"What've you got there?"  
  
She smiled up at him and opened her hands to reveal a plump green and blue bird. The bird seemed perfectly at home in the girl's hands, but cocked its head and eyed Jack. It made a low, muttering sound.  
  
"To this day I still dunno what they're called," she said, still smiling. She stroked the bird's head fondly. "But these little fellows n'me have helped the Cap many a time. Isn't that right, Cap'n?"  
  
"That's right Carly. How long is this going to take you?"  
  
"Not long," the girl chirped, and plucked the folded parchment from Melanie's fingers. "How far away are we talking this time?"  
  
Jack watched the captain consider carefully. "About this many leagues," she decided at last, and began to cut Carly's woven cord into sections.  
  
"That's to his home?"  
  
"That's to the anvil in his smithy," Melanie answered smoothly and passed the lengths of cord to Carly. "I've never been wrong."  
  
"Neither have I," the girl responded brightly. "You just make sure you've said all you need to in this little note-y o'yours."  
  
"I hope I have."  
  
"While I hate to interrupt this wonderfully obscure conversation," came Jack's voice, "what in the name of Davey Jones are you two going on about?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Carly said to him. She passed him the bird and it sat in his cupped hands and ruffled its feathers. "I keep forgettin' that you n'Mr. Gibbs ain't part o'the crew. I do this all the time when we're in a pinch on an island."  
  
Jack raised his eyebrows and looked at Melanie, who had taken that moment to start whistling and carefully examine her fingernails. "This type of thing has happened before?"  
  
"Oh, loads of times. Anyways, I've got this thing wif animals, see? At least, that's what me mum used to say ..." the child's face clouded with homesickness for a moment, then she brightened. "Oh! Where's Milton?"  
  
"Milt-" Jack started to ask, when a furry weight dropped onto his shoulder. The pirate swallowed back a yelp and turned his head to meet the intelligent eyes of Carly's capuchin monkey. It chittered.  
  
"There's Milton. Now, where was I?"  
  
"Animals," Jack murmured, not unkindly.  
  
"That's right! Animals. If you need help wif'em, you come to me. And especially if you need'em to help you, you come to me. I've got a knick for this kind of thing, you know."  
  
"A knack," Melanie corrected gently.  
  
"Right, that's what I said." All the while that she spoke, Carly was counting out the cut sections of seaweed and rolling them into little balls. The bird in Jack's hands was very interested in them. It was sitting very still and not making a sound.  
  
"Now I was teaching one o'these birds to play catch one day - "  
  
"Catch?"  
  
Melanie leaned over and spoke in a low voice. "She teaches everything to play catch." Jack chuckled softly.  
  
" - but they didn't really like the catchin' part. What they did like was the droppin' part. And the funny thing is, they won't drop whatever they've got until they've flown about a league."  
  
Jack laughed out loud now. "An entire league, little one?"  
  
Carly smiled back at him. "I wish I could explain it, Mr. Sparrow. I really do. Maybe they're just stubborn. So they fly and fly until they drop whatever they've got, and then they fly down and look for it!" She lifted the bird from Jack's hands. "The most hilarious part is that they'll only look if they've got nothing else left. They like to have things, even if it's just one."  
  
Jack was now interested. "So this bird will fly and fly -"  
  
"Sometimes it has to rest."  
  
" - until it's dropped all these little balls, one for every league, and then it stops to look for the last one?"  
  
"That's right," said Carly, pleased. "I invented it."  
  
Melanie laughed. "You didn't invent it. But you certainly have turned it to our benefit." The child stuck out her tongue and tied the note to the bird's leg.  
  
"And in what direction shall we be pointing this little contraption?" asked Jack. Carly smiled and allowed the excited bird to gather up all the little balls in its clawed feet.  
  
"In Will's direction, o'course." 


	9. To the Green Dragon

Author-ess Here!  
  
Sorry for the delay in chapters, but I've been assaulted by term papers lately. I still have one to do and so I shouldn't ~technically~ be writing this ... but if you don't tell my English professors, neither will I *winks*  
  
There's actually a ~reason~ why I'm making this special post. Does anyone realize what day January 28th is? Is anyone who reads this a Lord of the Rings movie fan? It was Elijah Wood's birthday! Clearly, this chapter will be wrought with gratuitous references to Lord of the Rings.  
  
This one's for you, Blue Eyes. I hope you're not adverse to a little cameo appearance.  
  
Nine  
  
Dana Flint opened one eye. She would have opened the other one, but it, along with her nose, was pressed firmly onto her pillow. She looked around and listened again for the soft knock that she thought she'd heard.  
  
Knock, knock.  
  
Dana chuckled to herself as she rolled off of her stomach and set her feet on the cold floor. Even Will's knock was gentlemanly and polite. She snorted. It was nearly time to change that. With a rub over her face and a pause to pull on a shirt, she opened the door and smiled at him.  
  
"I must say, William, you are the most accurate wake-up call that I've ever had."  
  
He smiled slightly, and stepped into her small home to be out of the evening air's chill. "What are we going to do tonight? I just didn't feel like being inside working again."  
  
Dana laughed and cast about for her hat and jacket. "Will - not wanting to work. Now that's a new one on me. Well, Mr. Cabin Fever, what would you like to do this evening? You know that my vote goes for replacing our blood with rum, but I'd be happy to hear your ideas."  
  
Will nodded to the sword that Dana had propped up against one wall. The gun-maker shook her head. "While I would love to hack at things in the dark, my arms are still sore from this morning. Go ahead, try and see if you can find some more rum-free entertainment."  
  
"Speaking of darkness, I can't shoot a pistol if I can't see what I'm aiming at - "  
  
Smirk. "Not that you'd hit anything anyway."  
  
" - so I suppose that's another useless idea."  
  
"And do you know why it was a useless idea?"  
  
"Probably because it didn't involve making you drunk."  
  
"Good boy. Got it in one."  
  
Will laughed in spite of himself. "All right, Flint. You gave me a good workout this morning. I suppose the least that I can do is let you loose at the pub and help you make a fool of yourself."  
  
Dana grinned and slipped her hat over her hair. "That, my dear, I need no help with."  
  
~  
  
The Poco was a nice enough place to eat. It was an even nicer place if one happened to have some business regarding pirates or pirate-related things, due to the ever-attentive ear of hostess Carine. But for the weary - or unweary but distressingly sober - traveler, there was no place like the Green Dragon.  
  
After all, the only brew for the brave and true comes from the Green Dragon.  
  
Dana and Will strolled down the evening streets of Port Royale. The night was off to a wonderful start, they both agreed. Will thought so because the water was still and lapping at the boards of the dock with a gentle rhythm that could never be replicated by harp or fiddle. Dana thought so because Will was introducing her to a new place to drink.  
  
"I can't believe that you've never even so much as mentioned it. Let's be honest, William. I think it's in my best interest to know these sorts of things."  
  
"You drink often enough, Dana."  
  
"Only when I'm out with friends. Or alone. Or thirsty."  
  
"Like I said."  
  
"I'm curious, Will. You've been very gallant in avoiding coming right out and ~saying~ that you believe I drink far too much. Have you, yourself, ever partaken?"  
  
Will shifted in a slightly uncomfortable way. "Well ..."  
  
Dana stopped in the middle of the road. "You didn't just say no."  
  
The blacksmith drew himself up to his full height. "Exactly. I didn't say no."  
  
"But you're not telling my that you ~have~ either."  
  
Will paused. "Well ... that's also true."  
  
"I can't believe it! You've never been out drinking?!"  
  
"No."  
  
"You are a grown, and dare-I-say, RESPECTABLE young gentleman. You have a healthy business, an uncanny knack for combat with pointed weapons ... you have sailed on a pirate ship and under a pirate flag. But you have NEVER tasted rum?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Beer?"  
  
"No."  
  
Dana laughed suddenly. "Oh my dear, blacksmith. This night is going to be more fun than I thought!"  
  
~  
  
The Green Dragon was not a large pub, but it did not need to be. It was nestled between the shops and businesses that lined the side of the dock farthest from the more respectable section of the Port. It could be argued that the place was a popular one with the rougher crowds that often came to the Port to stretch their legs. Will visited it often, and was usually - and happily - reminded of the tamer portions of Tortuga.  
  
Dana stopped just outside the pub and turned her face upwards to the sign above its door. "Is that supposed to be a dragon?" An image of a curled green worm had been painted onto the wood.  
  
"Have you ever seen a dragon?"  
  
"No ... but one naturally assumes that they would be more impressive." Will laughed and held open the door for her.   
  
The inside of the pub was thick with pipe-smoke and conversation. Dana stepped inside with a grin and a long look around. The walls were draped with worn tapestries whose faded colors depicted epic battles and rolling grasses. The tables were long and crowded, as was the bar that stretched across the length of the back wall. Three rather-fetching serving wenches were being kept very busy.   
  
Dana turned back to Will with a smile. "I like it already."  
  
"That's a good start. They haven't even set a mug in front of you yet. I'm impressed."  
  
"Well that situation will have to be remedied, won't it?"  
  
Dana proceeded to make her way past the filled chairs and tables to the back of the Green Dragon with Will in tow. She edged her way through the vigorous crowd easily enough, until an arm suddenly blocked her way. Will, aware of Dana's remarkable appreciation for such rude interruptions, made himself scarce.  
  
"Well now, look at this filly here," a low voice rumbled. Its owner soon came into view, an impossibly tall, barrel-chested man with a bald head. He had a multitude of earrings in both ears. He licked his lips. "Isn't this just a fine place to find some company?"  
  
Dana smiled sweetly at him, and her eyes followed the hand that he placed on her shoulder. "It's true that I am very fine company," she purred, and slipped her own hand inside her coat. "In fact, I've been called quite explosive - "  
  
Before she could finish, a figure came between her and the fortunately-rescued man. "Hold it there, Thompson. This one's a new customer." The - by the sounds of him - young gentleman who had stepped in front of her was much shorter than the man that he confronted, but the large sailor hesitated, then nodded.  
  
"Aye, Jones. Shame she ain't a regular."  
  
"Cryin' shame," Dana added, and took her hand off of her pistol. She and her rescuer watched the burly man make his way back into the crowd. "I guess I should say thank you ..."  
  
"That's not really necessary," said the younger man, and turned to face her. He was barely shorter than she, and a mess of dark hair covered his head and framed his fair-skinned face. His wide and smiling eyes were blue. Dana found herself suddenly speechless. "I hate to see newcomers being subjected to such ... rough treatment."  
  
"I ... I don't know what to say." The youth laughed at her musically and took her by the arm.  
  
"Say you'll have a drink with me. My name is Jones. Jones Underhill."  
  
~  
  
Jones led Dana to an unoccupied corner of the bar and gestured for her to have a seat. She found it hard to take her eyes off of his. "How ... how did ... ?"  
  
Jones lifted a hand and a serving-wench scurried over. "How did I dissuade a sailor more than three times my size to let me have his prize? I own this pub." He smiled. "Without me, where would these fine gentlemen settle themselves after a hard day's work?"  
  
Dana nodded, and asked the girl for a bottle of rum. Jones raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. Dana said nothing until her drink arrived, then took a generous swallow of it. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Jones. But I would have been able to take care of myself."  
  
The dark-haired young man allowed his eyes to run over her figure and let them stop on the belt under her jacket. "I imagine you would be able to, yes. After all, very few helpless young maidens care to venture to my establishment. Are you here alone?"  
  
Dana swallowed another mouthful. "No, actually. I'm here with a friend. Will Turner? Have you met him?"  
  
"Turner ... the blacksmith?"  
  
"The same."  
  
With a soft laugh, Jones leaned back in his chair. "Yes, we've met. He comes here rather often. We also did a lot of traveling together when we were younger." The gun-maker snorted and eyed Jones critically.  
  
"When you were younger. You don't appear to be very old now."  
  
Jones smiled and his eyes twinkled. "I'm old enough, Dana."  
  
At that moment, and with a hoot of laughter, Will emerged from the crowd. "I love this place! My ass has been pinched six times!"   
  
"Why Will, I didn't think you had it in you."  
  
Will shrugged and picked up Dana's bottle. "It just reminds me of a place that I once visited." He took a swig from the bottle with a nod to Jones while Dana watched, wide-eyed.  
  
"Did you just take a drink from my bottle?" Will swallowed the liquid with a grimace. Jones seemed equally astonished.  
  
"I did. I've decided to start living in a more exciting way. What do you think?"  
  
"I think that's wonderful. I would just suggest one thing ..."  
  
Will pulled a free chair from a neighboring table and settled himself beside her. He folded his hands on the tabletop. "And what's that?"  
  
Dana, faster than his eye could follow, pulled a knife from her boot and plunged it into the wood just shy of his hands. "That you get your own bottle." 


	10. The, uh, Tenth Chapter?

Author Here - I think I am addicted to peppermint tea. My tongue has become striped O_o  
  
Ten  
  
The candlelight played on the surface of pipesmoke in the Green Dragon, forming patterns that were at once hilarious and menacing, vivid and laughably obscure. The blacksmith was leaning back slightly in his chair, gazing through the haze towards the ceiling. His limbs were slightly numb and, he felt, may or may not have been still attached to the rest of him. He didn't mind. He was filled with a giddy sort of warmth, and although his eyes wouldn't quite focus, he decided that he was seeing everything in a light that was wonderful and glorious. Everything swam lazily before him - the room, the smoke, the bustling patrons, and he felt a deep and abiding love for all of it.  
  
Well, Will thought. So this is what it feels like to be drunk.  
  
Actually, what Will was truly thinking was more along the lines of: *giddy laugh ... hiccup ... second roar of laughter*, but surely if he had been able to articulate anything properly, he surely would have said something sensible and along those lines.  
  
Dana Flint sat with a comfortable amount of rum inside her as well, though not nearly so much as to cause her to forget the delightful dark-haired company that sat at her side, or to cause her to lift the good-natured but careful eye that she was keeping trained on the heavily intoxicated William. Jones was a more than gracious host and the serving girls were never to be found far away. Several times during the evening, Jones had been clapped on the back by gruff but polite patrons whose burly paws could have easily engulfed the young pub-owner. Jones did not seem fazed by these brief visits, and showed no discomfort when conversing with such monstrous men.  
  
Dana hardly minded the pauses in their conversation, and let her eyes roam over Jones in the interim. His grey short was unbuttoned at the neck, and she fancied she could see the faint twinkle of a metal chain along the bit of collarbone that she could see. She was extremely pleased with how the evening was going, what with an inebriated Will on one side and a blue-eyed darling on the other. Speaking of William, he started to giggle.  
  
"You know what I think?" he slurred slightly. He dropped his chin to look at both Jones and Dana squarely.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Well," he went on and cast about for his mug. "Here we are, sitting and drinking ... I think the author's running out of ideas."  
  
Both Jones and Dana laughed and drained their cups as the serving-wench hurried over.  
  
"I'm sure that's not true," Jones replied with a slight smile. His fair cheeks were colored with the blush of sufficient amounts of alcohol. "I'll bet the poor dear's just got too much homework to write properly." 


	11. A Feathered Beginning

Author's Interruption - Every day brings us closer to Pirates of the Caribbean 2. Know that.  
  
Eleven  
  
In the beginning, there was only darkness.  
  
Then the door of the Green Dragon was thrown open and light poured onto the street, followed closely by a swaggering Will Turner and a chuckling Dana Flint. Will staggered out to the middle of the street, then threw his head back to howl at the night sky.  
  
"That was so much fun!"  
  
Dana clapped him on the back. "You did well, Turner. I'm impressed."  
  
"Well you should be!" Will said and drew himself up to his full height. "I drank a lot."  
  
"You certainly did, my smithy-friend."  
  
"Only ... now I don't feel so well ..." Will hiccupped softly, then groaned and leaned on Dana and put his head on her shoulder. As they made their way carefully down the street, he put his mouth to her ear. "I think I drank too much."  
  
"There's not such a thing as that, Will. All you can say is that you didn't eat enough bread. Rum and beer are always all right. You should get more used to them, love. What sort of pirate doesn't drink to celebrate his victories?"  
  
Will leaned more heavily on her, and Dana turned a corner to the direction of the dock and Will's home. "Did I tell you that I'm a pirate?"  
  
"No, but you sailed with one, didn't you?"  
  
"I did! I did. I ... I miss those times."  
  
Dana laughed. "You miss Jack Sparrow."  
  
Will squinted at nothing but the surrounding darkness in particular. "Did I ever tell you what Jack's name was?" Dana stopped walking, and Will did, consequently. He looked at her as best as he could. "Did I?"  
  
Dana hesitated, then opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment so did Will, who was suddenly and violently sick by the side of the road.  
  
~  
  
When he opened his eyes, Will felt a violent lurching of the objects in the room and quickly shut them again. He made a strained sound, and heard Dana move somewhere to his side.  
  
"Sorry about that, Will. Here. I'll put the candles out. If you can't see anything, you can't get dizzy now can you?"  
  
He opened his eyes again and saw nothing but darkness. His head hurt. "You didn't tell me that you feel sick after you drink." He listened to Dana settling herself on a chair beside his bed. She sounded apologetic.  
  
"Well, ah, to be perfectly honest, that doesn't always happen."  
  
"It doesn't happen to you?"  
  
"I've been drinking for a long time. You sort of, get used to it, I guess."  
  
Will rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I'll be doing that again for a while." Dana laughed quietly.  
  
"Oh come on, Turner. S'not so bad! Think of how much fun you were having at the Green Dragon." Will smiled in the dark. He had been having a good time. But just the same, such a headache and queasy stomach seemed to him a large price to pay for an evening of merriment. "I'll think about it."  
  
Both the blacksmith and the gun-maker were quiet for a long time. The dark evening was warm and Dana had left the windows of Will's home open. He could hear the water outside, and it was a soothing sound. There was much comfort to be found in the ocean.  
  
Dana yawned and stretched. "Did you want me to let you go to sleep? You'll feel fine in the morning."  
  
"To tell you the truth," Will said, "now that my stomach's empty and my head is clear, I don't feel all that bad. What time do you suppose it is?"  
  
Dana made as if to answer, then stopped and stood suddenly. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, Will could see that she had her head turned towards the door. "Actually, Will, I think I know exactly what time it is." She pushed her chair back softly and crept towards the door. As Will sat up, she opened it slowly.  
  
Faint light from the street spilled into his doorway, and he craned his head to see a small shape on the ground outside his door. It muttered quietly and fluffed up its feathers. There was a small burden on one of its legs.  
  
"I think," Dana said, "that it is time for this story to actually begin." 


	12. Word from Cash

Author's Note(s) - You know, I would have liked to have written more today. But I didn't. Here's why - today is February 24. That means that it's February 24 all over the world, including in New Orleans. And that means that another Mardi Gras is coming and going and I'm ~not there~. Here, read this. I'll be in the corner, weeping.  
  
Twelve  
  
"Is your head well enough to relight those candles, Will?" He nodded in the dark, then moved to find his matches. The feathered thing in his doorway hadn't moved much, and apart from the occasional bobbing of its head, there was little about the silhouette to distinguish it from the other shadows cast in the street. As the light from the match flared suddenly and brilliantly, Dana bent and scooped the bird into her hands. It gave a soft squawk of surprise and beat its wings twice before it settled. The colors of its feathers were muted in the candlelight, but both Dana and Will could see that it was far from a local specimen.  
  
"See this?" Dana noted, closing the door behind her. She held out one of the bird's skinny legs. Above its claw was a paper burden.   
  
"Do you think that maybe you're making a big deal out of a bird?"  
  
"And do you think that maybe this is the sign that you've been keeping your eyes open for?" she replied, removing the bundle as she did. "Not a day has gone by these last few months that you haven't looked out that window as you worked, or towards the harbor and the faces of the people coming off of those boats. You've been waiting."  
  
Will was silent, but Dana obligingly held out the paper to him. "Open it, blacksmith. You never know." He took it. "In any case," she continued, "it's a pretty little thing." She set the bird on the floor and watched it hop around, and politely turned her back to him, amused by the little creature's investigation of the room. With something like a grateful smile, Will carefully unrolled the paper.  
  
The script was scrawled, the marks of the lead were faint, and Will had to move closer to the candle to read properly, but what he read - which he did again, a number of times - sped up the pace of his heart and dried out his mouth. He finally read aloud to Dana, and his voice was not steady.  
  
"I pray this finds you, William. I have Jack, but Roberts has my ship. Island-bound, two days from Tortuga and three from you. Him and the Dart first, Will."  
  
Dana was silent for a long moment and stroked the little bird's back with a finger, who made a chuckling sound. She rose. "Who was that written by?"  
  
"I'm assuming Melanie Cash - Carine's sister. I hired her to find Jack."  
  
"And she has."  
  
"It would certainly seem so."   
  
There was a long silence, then:  
  
"Will, do you have any idea who the 'Roberts' she refers to is?"  
  
He shook his head slowly.  
  
"I do. If the Dart is your friend's ship, and Roberts has it, you may be farther from finding Jack than when Cash sent you no word at all." Dana sat heavily on the blacksmith's bed and seemed deep in thought. "He's a pirate."  
  
Will shrugged. "So is Cash. So is Jack. Pirates don't scare me."  
  
"Maybe that's because Melanie cash didn't use his full name. The Dread Pirate Roberts would have been more accurate. He is no one to be trifled with."  
  
"How do you know this?"  
  
Dana looked uncomfortable. "I've heard stories. Everyone's heard stories. He could be the original scallywag - he's looted and destroyed for years, but never seems to age. His skill with a blade is unmatchable-" Will raised his eyebrows, "-and he's never left survivors."  
  
"Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?" Will murmured to himself.  
  
"He's earned his name, William. Nothing stops him. He preys on everything - merchant and pirate ships alike. He's a terror."  
  
"And has my friend's ship."  
  
"Unfortunately, yes."  
  
"Well then, let's go and take it back."  
  
Dana stared at him. "You can't be serious." Will stared back.  
  
"If the only thing that stood in the way of you finding someone you thought you'd lost was the fairy-tale of a pirate, I think you'd go, too." The gun-maker put her head in her hands.   
  
"This is suicide."  
  
The bird muttered softly from under the bed. 


	13. A Free Lunch and Cap'n Jones

Author's Note - Well, I'm not at Mardi Gras. But at least you're all still here!  
  
Thirteen  
  
"Insanity. That's what this is. He's lost his mind." Dana was reloading and rechecking her pistols. She had done so to the same ones three times now, but her white-knuckled hands needed something to occupy them. Something other than belting the blacksmith who was grinning to himself on the other side of the room.  
  
"I can hear you, you know."  
  
"That's fine. I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to ~him~." She jerked a thumb in the direction of the bird nestled comfortably amidst the blankets on Will's bed. He looked to be asleep.  
  
"Well, it's clear that I'm certainly causing him a great deal of stress."  
  
Dana stopped fidgeting turned to glare. "I'm glad to see that you're taking this so seriously. When I had recommended you read that paper last night, it never occurred to me that you'd get it in your pretty little head to hunt down the man that every port-raised child has grown up learning to fear." She shook her head, "If my mother could see me now."  
  
Will adjusted the straps on his pack and checked its weight. He didn't answer, knowing that if Dana was truly as angry as she claimed, she wouldn't have packed her own satchel and appeared, grumbling, at his door that morning.  
  
"So you're just going to assume that he's in his Tortuga?"  
  
"It never hurts to check," Will replied. "And it's a good a place to start as any." He smiled as he hefted his pack onto his shoulders. Yes, it was a good idea to begin in Tortuga. Not only was it something of a certainty that there would be word there of the Dread Pirate Roberts, but it was Tortuga. He could barely contain his glee at the thought of being able to go back.  
  
"Fine. Tortuga. Great. How are we going to get there?"  
  
"That's been taken care of, too. It's not a long way there, so after you left last night, I arranged for a friend to have us given passage on his ale barge. The Green Dragon goes through a lot of ale, I imagine."  
  
Dana smiled. "You spoke to Jones."  
  
"That's right. I let him know that the two of us needed to get over to Tortuga quickly, and he was more than happy to help. In any case," Will added with a wink, "Jones owes me a favor or two."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Yes, really. And now it's really time that we got moving. Do you have everything that you're going to need? I'm not sure how long we're going to be gone."  
  
The gun maker spun her pistols in her hands and allowed them to drop into the leather holsters criss-crossed across her hips. It was obvious that she had no desire to conceal them now. "I think so." She shrugged into her own pack, then lifted the dozing tropical bird off of the bed and gently settled it into the crook of her arm.  
  
"You're bringing him?"  
  
"I thought that I might. At least ~he~ doesn't rush me headlong into insanity."  
  
Will laughed as he held the door open for her. "Wasn't he the one who brought us this news in the first place?"  
  
~  
  
When they entered the Green Dragon, it was midafternoon and very warm. The pub was next to empty as it was sweltering inside and still early in the day. Will assumed - and correctly - that many of last night's patrons were still asleep somewhere. There were half a dozen figures hulked over steaming bowls at the bar, and as Will and Dana slid onto their stools, a wiry blonde with rather bad teeth sidled over.  
  
"Sorry there love," she crowed. Dana was reminded vaguely of Carine. "But there's no animals inside." She jabbed a painted fingernail towards the bird. Dana glanced down at it, jiggled her arm to demonstrate that it was not awake, and looked back up at the bar wench.  
  
"He's not going to be any trouble."  
  
The blonde didn't move, and instead stood with her hands on her hips.  
  
"Although," Dana continued, "~I~ might be trouble if you're not going to let us order lunch." She held the woman's gaze for a moment until the latter spun around and tramped to the kitchen in a huff.  
  
"I love going out for lunch with you," said Will. "Such pleasant company."  
  
Dana winked. "Without me, there wouldn't be lunch."  
  
Will pointed to her arm. "Without you, I wouldn't have had this bird problem."  
  
"And wif out the both of ye," a burly - evidently hung-over - man shouted from further down the bar, "Ah'd be able t'eat in peace!"  
  
The two were startled, then chuckled behind their hands and made an effort to sit quietly until the serving girl had dropped their bowls of stew in front of them. They were followed by hard rolls of bread, and Dana poked the bird awake to offer it morsels.  
  
Will emptied his bowl quickly, but the stubborn waitress made no move to clear away the dish. Dana started on her own lunch when the bird was satisfied, and allowed it to strut back and forth across the countertop. "So, where's Jones at?"  
  
Will shrugged. "No idea. He said he wouldn't be at the pub today, but wished us luck."  
  
"Doesn't he know why you're going away so suddenly?"  
  
Laughing quietly, Will said, "There's a lot of things that lad knows - not that he lets anyone else in on most of it, mind you. It's tough to say with him."  
  
"What did you tell him, exactly?"  
  
"Well, you had left in something of a bad mood and I certainly wasn't going back to sleep, not as excited as I was and what with everything I had to think about. So I thought for a bit, reread that scrap again, and decided the best place to start looking for Roberts was Tortuga, and the best way to get there was on a boat."  
  
Dana snorted. "I'd figured that was the only way, William."  
  
"Quiet. So I got to thinking about the fastest way to do that, and had no real ideas. I decided to come back to the Dragon for some company and a coffee, when Jones laughed at me being back.  
  
'Back for more already?' he asked, and I told him no, I'd had quite enough - so much in fact that I had had to leave a good amount beside the road on my way home. So Jones laughs again, inquires as to what could have disturbed my sweet slumber, and I tell him that you and I need to find ourselves in Tortuga in a hurry. He claps me on the back, asks if that was all, and tells me to be at the docks after lunch tomorrow. The captain of his ale barge would be more than happy to take us."  
  
"Sounds like Jones is quite the friend."  
  
The blacksmith smiled. "Decent people aren't easy to find, but they're valuable once you've got them."  
  
"I could say the same for feathered accomplices," Dana replied softly. "Take a look at that." She pointed along the bartop to the grumpy man from before, who was slumped over his bowl and snoring loudly. His coin purse was on the counter, and the blue-green bird was approaching both slowly. With its eyes ever on the barfly, it bent its beak and tugged the man's coin pouch open. A single gold piece tumbled out. Cautious still, the bird took the coin in its beak and inched backward. The gentle 'clickclick' of its claws on the counter barely made a sound, and the bird returned happily to Dana's arm with the man none the wiser.  
  
With a laugh, Dana took the coin from the bird's beak. It crooned.  
  
"It looks like our chipper new friend has just paid for our lunch."  
  
~  
  
Will, Dana and bird made their way down to the port. Seagulls screamed in the sky overhead, burly sailors shouted from below the dock, and all around was the bustle and chatter of the sea-faring. Will thought that it was a fantastic, really fantastic afternoon, Dana wondered what sort of pubs and pub-going fellows were in Tortuga - she knew enough that it would not have been exactly accurate to call them gentlemen - and the bird was asleep again. Both Dana and Will thought it strange that the creature had shown little interest in returning from whence it came, but Dana passed it off as exhaustion. The thing had flown quite a distance, after all.  
  
"He could really do with a name, couldn't he?" Dana mused, stroking his feathers.  
  
"For someone who takes great pleasure in shooting things," Will replied, scanning the port for the promised barge. "You've certainly grown attached to that thing."  
  
"Well he's a proper pirate bird. He may not be a parrot, but he steals, stuffs his beak and sleeps all day. He'd be perfect."  
  
Will shielded his eyes with a hand and continued his effort. "And you're looking to turn pirate yourself, is that it?" He was preoccupied enough with what he was doing that he didn't notice Dana stiffen. A cloud had passed over her face.  
  
"No. I'm not."  
  
"Okay then," said Will absently. "Then not a pirate name. And I suppose it should be a boy's name."  
  
She toyed with his feathers, admiring how they caught the sun's shine. "That sounds like a start. Any ideas?"  
  
"Jones!" Will cried suddenly.  
  
Dana laughed. "I don't know if that really suits him, but -"  
  
"No, I mean Jones!" Will pointed over Dana's shoulder, and she turned to see the younger man nonchalantly making his way up the dock to join them. Neither failed to notice the pack slung across his shoulders.   
  
Will clapped him on the shoulder. "What are you doing there? I thought you were busy today!"  
  
Jones grinned. The breeze off the water lifted his dark curls off of his shoulders and his clear eyes sparkled. "I'm coming with you." Dana didn't hide her smile.  
  
Will, however, did not seem so excited. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You're going to Tortuga, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, if you think about it, it makes good business sense for me to go. I've got to make sure my ale is being fetched as it should be. Besides," he added with a wink in the gun maker's direction that brought a blush to her cheeks, "I've been to Tortuga before. I'd like to visit again."  
  
Will was incredulous. "You've been there?" Jones was relatively short, his fair skin shone, and his delicate mouth dropped into a pout. He was, Dana thought, the very picture of innocence. "I don't believe you."  
  
Jones fluttered his dark eyelashes over his blue eyes. Dana found it difficult to keep on her feet. "What's the matter, William? Don't think I'd fit in?"  
  
The blacksmith was about to retort when he paused and took another look at his friend. Jones pursed his lips and winked again, this time at Will. Will smiled slowly, understanding. "Ah. Now that I think about it, Jones Underhill, I think it's all right for you to come along after all." Jones looked pleased, and turned to lead the way to the ship they sought.  
  
As he sauntered ahead of them, Dana leaned close to Will. "And what exactly did you two mean by that little exchange?"  
  
The corners of his mouth twitched. "Jones has, ah, made it clear, that he is familiar with Tortuga and its ways." Dana raised her eyebrows in question, but Will would say no more.  
  
After a short time, Jones halted their procession and indicated a smallish, rickety vessel. "Here we are. This is my ale-wagon. She goes back and forth between our Port and Tortuga's every week."  
  
Dana eyed it. "Is it safe?" The wood had gone gray with age, and there were several places where the hull had been patched.  
  
"Would I trust such a precious cargo with anything less?" He responded with a flourish, and gestured for Will and Dana to board. Dana had turned slightly pink at his comment until Will leaned over and whispered:  
  
"He meant his ale." Dana patted the butt of a pistol in reply, making Will chuckle.  
  
"Has your little wagon no captain, Jones?" The slender blacksmith looked over the small deck.  
  
"I am the captain this time. I told you that he would be more than willing to ferry you across." The young man's eyes shone.  
  
"Then I'd say it's a good thing we agreed to let you come along, eh?"  
  
Jones only smiled and bent to the task of preparing the craft to sail. Will stowed his pack and went to help him. Dana leaned against the wooden railing and regarded them both with some amusement, not unlike the way she had been entertained by the strutting of her feathered friend. The aforementioned bird was now awake and alert, and had side-stepped onto Dana's shoulder to keep a better eye on the seagulls that wheeled overhead.  
  
She hardly noticed. Her eyes were occupied, and indeed, very busy. Will's shirt had been tugged open both by the slight wind and by his exertion, and she could see the movement of his taut chest beneath it. At the same time, Jones' fair cheeks were touched with the coloring of effort, and Dana fancied that his dark lashes were long enough to brush his cheeks when he blinked. Her heartbeat's speed kicked up slightly, and more so when she felt a small beak close briefly on her silver earring.  
  
"Ouch!" She was startled out of her reverie by the little bird, who had grown accustomed to the shrieking gulls and was finding other things with which to occupy itself. She held her arm out straight, and it sidled from her shoulder to perch easily on her wrist. "You still need to be named, I remember. Would a name please you enough to keep my jewelry out of your sharp mouth?"  
  
It fluffed its green-blue feathers and turned its head to train one golden eye on her. "I'll take that as a yes. Good, we then have an accord. Now all I've got to do is give you a name. Not a pirate name ... No, not a pirate name. But I can't very well keep making our poor narrator refer to you as 'the bird' or find creative synonyms for 'creature'. So what shall it be?" The bird shifted from one foot to the other, chirping softly. Dana laughed.  
  
"Well I'd be hard-pressed to find a more cliché way of naming you than to use the type of sound you make. Let's hear that again, then." Enjoying the attention, the bird peeped again, and Dana nodded. "Okay little friend. I've got it. I'm going to call you ... Pip." She thought a minute. "You know, I could probably lengthen that a little bit into something more familiar ... something a little more famous. But Pip's a good name, and I think the narrator will be satisfied."  
  
And the narrator was. 


	14. Jack's Dream

Author here! Hey, guess what. They're coming out with a new movie. Seen those 'Chuckie' movies? Killer doll? Well in the later movies, killer doll gets together with a chick killer doll and apparently now they've had a kid. Guess who is the voice of the killer kid? *sob* Billy Boyd! What's happened to my Scottish angel?  
  
Fourteen  
  
Jack's dream was both fantastic and disappointing. Fantastic because he was dreaming, but disappointing because he knew that he was.  
  
He was sitting on a bed of feathers. This was his first clue to the dream-nature of what he was experiencing. He had never been in such a fancy bed. The second clue was the fact that the bed rested on a tiny island, so tiny that its shallow shores disappeared under the bed's clawed feet, while a still green sea stretched out in all directions. There was someone in the bed with him, and they were sleeping with their back to him.  
  
He debated as to whether or not he should wake them, but he had little else to do, and so it was not a difficult decision. As he extended a hand to touch the shoulder of the sleeping figure, it rolled over and opened its - his - eyes.  
  
"Jack," asked Will. "Why are you in my dream?"  
  
"Will," answered Jack. "What're you doin' in my bed?"  
  
Will sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. He still looked very sleepy. When the sheets fell away from his chest, Jack could see that Will was wearing his smithy-apron, and it too was green. "Do you not wear pyjamas, my boy?" Will glanced down at himself.  
  
He sighed. "Well, this is disappointing."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"This is disappointing. Look at me. I'm not realistic. So, I must be a character in your dream - not you in mine."  
  
Jack frowned. "You're not Will?"  
  
"Oh I am, though that depends on what you mean by Will." He smiled. "If Will is someone who looks and speaks like Will, then I certainly am." He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. He folded his arms behind his head. "This is your dream."  
  
Jack looked around at the expanse of ocean, which had deepened to a much darker green. "I think I knew that already."  
  
Will didn't open his eyes. "If you know you much, Jack, do you know why you're dreaming about me?"  
  
"Well, it's your fault that I'm currently stuck on the island where I am. Maybe I'm angry with you."  
  
"I don't think so." Will's hair was free and splayed across the pillow. "This scene is much, much too peaceful for anger."  
  
Jack leaned down so that he kohl-rimmed eyes were inches from Will's. "I wouldn't admit it, but could it be that I miss you?" The blacksmith scrunched up his face in thought.  
  
"You're getting closer. But that's not quite it. There's more to it than that."  
  
"You know why I'm dreaming about you, then?" He sat back.  
  
"I do." Will rolled onto his side again so that his back was to Jack.  
  
Jack spread his hands. "Well, why am I? There are a hundred women - uh, things that I could be dreaming about. Why am I dreaming of you, dear William?"  
  
Will turned to speak over his shoulder. His voice was soft and his liquid brown eyes were no longer jovial, but expressionless. "Because you feel guilty."  
  
~  
  
Jack woke with a start. His heart was hammering, and he tried to remember what he had been dreaming about - what had agitated him so much - but the dream was gone. He made a frustrated sound and pushed his hat back so that it was no longer blocking the sun from his face. His back was to a gnarled palm tree, and the sand beneath him was very warm. Carly saw that he was awake and bounded over.  
  
"You're awake."  
  
"Don't remind me, darling."  
  
"Cap' said that when you were awake to get your help catchin' dinner."  
  
Jack made a face as he stretched. "Wot's in Melanie's head that we need to go through the exorbitant waste of time and energy to catch anything? There's fruit enough."  
  
The browned girl nodded quickly, not really listening. "She knows, she knows, Jack. But she also knows that naught but fruit in th'belly fer a week ain't good. An' besides," she winked at him in that special way that only works for mischievous children. "Huntin's not difficult. Even you can help."  
  
"Fine," he said and stood. "Lead on." He brushed sand from his pants as he walked behind the waif, and made a note to remember where his shirt and boots had been left. Not that he needed them on such a sweltering tropical paradise, but he did plan on leaving eventually. It would be lovely if eventually turned out to be sooner rather than later, though. He was getting a little bored.  
  
The past few days hadn't been all that bad - clear skies in the day and warm, rainless nights. It never changed. Apart from the pigeon-thing that Carly had rummaged through the bush to find, Jack had seen no other wildlife. Well, that might have been because he dozed much of the time. He had been determined to take a rest in Tortuga and even if he was no longer there, he was going to have it nonetheless.   
  
But he was starting to become restless, and made up his mind to talk to Melanie about it. He hadn't seen her much after that first day - she had busied herself with issues of food and shelter and fire while her crew had spread themselves over the small island in a way that Jack could not help but think of as looking, well, practiced. He had decided not to ask questions about that.  
  
Carly led him a little way into the trees. Melanie had a fire crackling quietly, and a lean-to. She emerged from the latter as Carly hailed her, and Jack noticed, not without some pleasure, that she had done her best to become as acclimatized to the heat as he had. Her skirt had been torn dangerously - but delightfully, Jack decided - short, and she too had forgone boots and left her long tan legs bare. She shirt had been torn as well, to above her stomach, and the sleeves were gone. A sheen of sweat gleamed on her chest, and the entirety of her auburn hair was done up in her scarf. Her blade was nowhere to be seen.  
  
She caught him looking. "Quite warm out, isn't it?"  
  
"Indeed it is," answered Jack, eyes on her legs. "'Tis quite the shame."  
  
"I trust you've been holding up well? Sorry to have been busy, but I've got the crew to think of and I just naturally assumed that you'd -"  
  
Jack held up a hand. "Not to worry my dear. It takes more than a sunny day to outdo this scallywag. After all, I think I've got nearly as much experience being hopelessly stranded as you do."  
  
She colored, but looked relieved. "So what chore do you require me from today, me beauty?"  
  
Evidently ignoring the comment, she pointed to his hip. "Firepower, Jack. You've got a pistol, and its not much use trying to find dinner with a sword."  
  
"'Course it is," Jack replied and pulled his own knife from the other side of his hip. "Observe." With an easy flick oh his wrist, the dagger was abruptly embedded in the husk of a coconut on the ground several feet away. Jack strode over and lifted his trophy triumphantly.  
  
Melanie laughed. "You know what I mean. Bellies need other than bananas and coconut milk." She ducked deeper into the trees and Jack followed, speared coconut in hand.   
  
He fell into step beside her. "I didn't know there were unfruit-like things on this spit of land worth eating," he said conversationally.  
  
"There are, if you know where to look for them," she answered, stepping over a fallen and mossy tree trunk. "We, ah, may have been on an island - like this - before ..." she cleared her throat. "In any case, there are wild pigs deeper in the trees. I mean, there might be. Maybe. Can't hurt to check."  
  
Jack laughed and put his pistol in her hand. "Just in case you're right."  
  
When they returned to Melanie's lean-to and the slowing fire, Gibbs was waiting for them. Jack nodded to his friend as he slung the young boar off of his shoulders. "Hello, Gibbs."  
  
Gibbs gestured to the pig. "What a fine stroke o'luck that were, happening to know where a family o'pigs might be livin'."  
  
"Aye," agreed Jack. "Unbelievable luck." Melanie whistled innocently and started to skin it. Both men chuckled.  
  
"Well now," Gibbs said. "It seems t'me that we've got quite the cozy little vacation happenin' on this island." He rubbed beaded moisture from his forehead and wiped his hands on his already damp shirt. "Neither you nor your ladies seem much affrighted, even seein' as its been a week today that we've been 'ere and no sign o'Will Turner."  
  
Melanie didn't look up. "Patience, Gibbs. I've got faith."  
  
He snorted. "In Will? Ye barely know the lad."  
  
"Not necessarily. I have faith in Carly's teaching and her birds." She looked Gibbs square in the eye then. "We will be found."  
  
Jack had settled himself down against a tree. "It just doesn't seem fair, love."  
  
"What doesn't?"  
  
"We don't get to have any adventures in this bleedin' tale until Will gets here."  
  
Melanie nodded, slowly. "True. I suppose that's true. What's the problem?"  
  
Jack stuck out his lower lip in a pout. "Well look how long its takin'! We're already on what, chapter fourteen, and he's not here."  
  
"Actually, its closer to fifteen," Gibbs stated helpfully, and pointed to the approaching end of the chapter.  
  
"Oh no, not this time." Jack was on his feet suddenly. "Not this time, love! We're going to have an adventure in this chapter!" And with that, he strode away in the direction of the shore. Melanie and Gibbs exchanged a look, then Melanie went back to preparing their meal while Gibbs turned his attention to the dying embers of the fire.  
  
After a few moments, a voice rang out. "You mean no one is coming with me? Neither of you are going to help me?"  
  
"Sorry, Jack!" Melanie called back. "We're a bit busy at the moment." And they were, too. It takes a lot of work to prepare a decent meal when you're stuck on an island, whether you're in a fictional pirate story or not.  
  
Jack made an angry sound from the beach. "No rum," he muttered. "No Tortuga. No bleedin' adventures. I'm getting a little impatient!" he shouted abruptly to the darkening sky. There was a sound from the rolling waves like a chuckle, and suddenly an event happened that Jack was powerless to prevent.  
  
Chapter fifteen.  
  
The sounds of angry pirate shrieks echoed into the night. 


	15. Songs Under the Stars

Author's note - More tossing in of songs from books I like (at the moment, Tolkien songs). Jones' song is from the Fellowship of the Ring movie - you hear both Gandalf and Bilbo singing little snippets of it throughout the film. Dana's song is from the Return of the King book, when Sam is alone in the orc tower and trying to find Frodo. Sally forth!  
  
Fifteen  
  
Warm evening air allowed Jones' ale-wagon to make good time, and the skies remained calm and clear that evening. Jones looked genuinely happy to be going to Tortuga, Dana thought, managing what had to be managed on the little boat with zeal. After a time, he began to sing quietly to himself, and Dana turned from her leaning position on the rail to listen:  
  
"The road goes ever on and on,  
  
Down from the door where it began,  
  
Now far ahead the road has gone,  
  
And I must follow if I can ...  
  
Pursuing it with eager feet,  
  
Until it joins some larger way  
  
Where many paths and errands meet.  
  
And whither then - " *  
  
He turned to wink at Dana. "I cannot say."  
  
"Shameless," muttered Will from his perch on the wooden railing on the opposite end of the boat. As far as opposites went, it was not far away. His open white shirt billowed behind him in the wind. Pip squawked from his shoulder.  
  
"If you didn't like my song," said Jones with an impish smile, "I would be happy to sing you another, William. They help so well to pass the time, and I know many."  
  
"I wonder how many songs Dana knows ..." Will mused loudly, and she started to laugh. She tossed her hair in mock-offense.  
  
"Why Will," she sniffed. "I'm insulted. I know more songs than either of you lads, and probably more than the two of you put together."  
  
Jones tied and checked a final knot before the last of the evening light was gone. "Well now you've got to sing." He hopped into a thin hammock that swayed in the breeze. "Sing to me, Dana. Sing the both of us to sleep and we'll be the closer to Tortuga."  
  
"Ah yes," said Dana. "Tortuga and our doom."  
  
Jones settled his arms behind his head but did not shut his eyes. "Doom?"  
  
"Yes," she replied with a glare in Will's direction. "But we'll be there soon enough. You lads wanted a song." She extended her arm to Pip, and the bird swept from Will and lighted on her wrist.  
  
Small burden gone from his shoulder, Will also settled himself for sleep. "One we haven't heard before, which won't be difficult if you know so very many." Jones agreed with a nod as sleep started to tug his eyelids down.  
  
Dana was far from tired, and thought for a moment while she stroked Pip's bright chest with a finger. He trilled, and in that same note she began to sing:  
  
"In Western lands beneath the Sun  
  
The flowers may rise in Spring,  
  
The trees may bud, the waters run,  
  
The merry finches sing.  
  
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night  
  
And swaying beeches bear  
  
The Elven-stars as jewels bright  
  
Amid their branching hair.  
  
Though here at journey's end I lie  
  
In darkness buried deep,  
  
Beyond all towers strong and high,  
  
Beyond all mountains steep,  
  
Above all shadows rides the Sun  
  
And Stars for ever dwell:  
  
I will not say the Day is done,  
  
Nor bid the Stars farewell."  
  
Her eyes lingered on the stars that were beginning to wink into sight in the night sky long after she sang, and if either Jones Underhill or William Turner had still been awake, they might have noticed the tears that stood, gleaming, in the eyes of Dana Flint. After a time, she hugged Pip to her chest with a teary laugh.  
  
"Sorry there, little friend. Didn't mean to get so melodramatic on you boys." She spoke very quietly, and thought it charming how Pip's bright eyes remained on her face when she spoke. "You know," she said to him, and stroked his little chin gently. "You're quite the gentleman. You know just when to listen to a lady." Pip peeped and fluttered to her shoulder where Dana felt him settle himself for the night against her neck.  
  
She scooted around on the railing until she was facing the ocean, and swung her feet back and forth above the spray. The boat rose and fell very slightly with the rise and fall of the dark water. Spray from the waves formed beads of moisture in her windblown hair and slightly wet her face. But for the slap of water on wood and the occasional grunt and groan of planks, the world was silent.  
  
"Though here at journey's end I lie, in darkness buried deep ... " she repeated, and sighed. It was a comfort to have the weight of her holstered pistols on her hips. "Soon it will begin. Soon enough."  
  
~  
  
Because the wind had picked up rigorously during the night, Jones and Will were all smiles when dawn broke. "We're making excellent time," Will remarked, and rubbed his hands together. Morning breeze was chilly as a rule, and that morning it was very brisk. But the skies were clear and the wind was cooperating, and so Will huddled inside his jacket instead of complaining. His breath made little puffs in the air.  
  
"Where's Dana this morning?" Jones asked, pulling this rope and readjusting that. Indeed, as Will looked out over the small deck, it was empty and quiet. But when he looked closer, he could see little clouds of breath in the cargo netting. He peered into the mass of rope and saw her comfortably asleep, blanketed and stretched on a segment of net like a hammock. Pip was nestled under her hair and against the warmth of her neck.  
  
"She's sleeping," he called softly back to Jones. "Best not to wake her." Jones nodded, and wrapped his jacket more tightly around him.  
  
"Perhaps she didn't sleep well last night."  
  
Will shrugged. "I'd never know. She's a funny girl, but she ... what's the phrase ... keeps things close to the vest."  
  
Jones sat. "I thought you two were friends."  
  
"Oh sure we are, but there's plenty I don't know about her - plenty of things she's just never said."  
  
"Why is she going with you to Tortuga?"  
  
Will paused, then shook his head. "I don't know. I keep joking about needing her help, but I think we both know that I could handle things well enough on my own."  
  
Jones, dark curls blowing over his fair face, looked curious. "Help ... ?"  
  
"Something like that. We're - I'm going to see a man about something, and he may not   
  
cooperate with what I'd like him to do for me."  
  
Jones' blue eyes lit up. "Need reinforcements?" Will couldn't help but smile,  
  
"I'll keep it in mind. If I ever have an opening for a side-kick, you'll be the first to know."  
  
"And rightfully so. I can hold my own against anyone."  
  
Will laughed now, despite Jones' pout. He seemed very good at that - the pouting. "Have you ever laid hand on blade or pistol, Jones?" Jones drew himself up to his full - though not very substantial - height.  
  
"No, I haven't, but there are weapons besides those."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
Jones made two fists, and flexed the muscles in his forearms and biceps. Will was more than a little surprised to see that there actually were muscles in his arms. "Like me. I boxed before I owned the Green Dragon - it helps me to keep owning the Green Dragon." The blacksmith raised his eyebrows.  
  
"That's a useful thing to know. We'll have to put to good use one of these days."  
  
"One of these days," Jones agreed, then yawned and stretched languidly.  
  
The air was starting to warm as the morning wore on, and Will decided he was intensely happy to be at sea, to be on the water. There was little to manage on Jones' little vessel, and Will was not surprised to find himself longing for the snap and flutter of mighty sails overhead, the groan and wooden chuckle of the deep rigging, and the myriad of voices that shouted and cursed and barked and laughed deep guttural laughs that seemed to creak from the very ship they manned. When Jack had teased him so long ago about wanting to turn pirate, he had become defensive, and perhaps too much so. But what had he known then about this great shimmering and azure mass that surrounded and lived its own life all around him?  
  
He had glimpsed Jack's pirate brand, glimpsed the scar that the pirate wore - with pride - on his forearm. Will ran a thumb over his own forearm: smooth and tanned and warm with life. But what kind of life, wondered Will, and did not yet have an answer.  
  
By mid-afternoon, when the sun had reached its zenith overhead and the warmth had spurred both young men to shirk their jackets and boots, the breeze had become a warm wind. Their little boat moved steadily along with only the occasional assistance from Jones, and Will was certain that they would reach Tortuga before nightfall.  
  
There came either a yawn or a groan from Dana's hammock of netting, and both Will and Jones watched with amusement as she clambered out and onto the deck. She clapped her hat down over her disheveled hair, and offered both a sleepy smile. "'Morning."  
  
"Morning was a few hours ago, oh Maiden-Who-Rises-In-Afternoon," said Will, not unkindly.  
  
Dana, straightening her shirt, replied, "Let me tell you lads something about this 'morning' business. It's better for one's health to avoid it altogether. The earlier you rise, the sooner you must start to work, and the shorter your life will be. It's infinitely better to stay up all night and sleep all morning. You'll never miss anything fun, and by the time you wake, the rest of the world is going about its merry business and all is well. You gents got all that?"  
  
"Savvy," said Will with a nod, and Jones smiled.  
  
"In any case," she continued, "you two will be wanting some sleep if this Tortuga is as hopping a place as Will has made it out to be. Who wants to be asleep and missing the action in a place like that?"  
  
There came a chuckle from Jones. "Oh, there are all sorts of things to do there, Dana. Sleep ... sleep isn't really one of them."  
  
"Well there's another reason to rest now," she said. "It's no use holding a sword to the necks of evil pirates if you can't see straight for exhaustion."  
  
Will agreed. "'Tis true, but I feel fine. I feel ready. It's going to be easy." Dana crossed her arms and shook her head.  
  
"You've no idea, Will. None at all. I can't believe you've never heard tale of him, but now, instead of just being a shame from your childhood, it might cost you your life."  
  
Jones was watching the interchange, interested, when Will unsheathed his sword and pointed it levelly at Dana. "You doubt me, Flint?" She was not fazed.  
  
"That doesn't matter, Will! What matters is that I certainly don't doubt HIM! You're mad to do this - you'll never kill Roberts!"  
  
"Roberts?" repeated Jones, startled. "Roberts is the man you're headed to Tortuga to find? The Dread Pirate Roberts?"  
  
"He's taken my friends' ship," Will said in a low voice, and lowered his blade. "We need that ship and we need my friend's help. If I've got to kill Roberts in order to do that, then I will." Jones whistled, long and low, then shook his head. He said nothing, but his wide blue eyes told Will more than enough.  
  
"No one thinks I can do this!" he shouted, and glared at the both of them. Pip, perched now on Jones' knee, fluttered in surprise.  
  
"It's because you can't!" Dana shouted back. She didn't look angry, in fact, she looked apologetic. "Will, you're my friend. I don't want to see you hurt. But this is a fool's errand."  
  
Will sheathed his sword. "Fine," he said. "That's fine. Then I'll do it without you."  
  
"What?" cried Dana and Jones at the same time. But Will hopped up and sat on the railing with his back to them, and did not reply.  
  
"Fine then!" Dana shouted. "Have it your own way, blacksmith. Don't say we didn't warn you when you find Roberts' blade in your belly!" She went back to her net-hammock, out of sight, and Jones was left alone.  
  
He would have liked to sing as he often did to entertain himself on a sea voyage, but couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the proper time. He closed his eyes instead, and the rest of the voyage passed in silence.  
  
~  
  
They came upon Tortuga in the late evening, and judging by all appearances, that was when the little port town came to life. While Will and Jones concerned themselves with tying up Jones' boat at the dock, Dana drank in the sight of the riotous town with large eyes - she tried to ignore that aspect of Tortuga that tried to make it through her nose. Smell aside, Tortuga was a wonder to the senses - bright lights illuminated bawdy shops that offered for purchase all sorts of distasteful and delightful baubles. Brays of laughter and crooning whistles rode piggyback on the warm night breeze, and the air itself seemed to shimmer.  
  
Dana felt an affinity for the place immediately, and though Will still wouldn't speak to her, she could see a softening in his features when the lights hit his eyes. It seemed to her that he had been looking forward to coming to Tortuga more than he had let on, and not simply for the sake of challenging Roberts. Jones' demeanor, on the other hand, did not change at all. He looked instead oddly at home in the raucous and brilliantly lit environment. The twang of guitar and the rhythmic crash and clatter of bottle and glass coalesced into an amiable melody. Jones seemed to ease into and move with it without much effort, and the motions he made while docking and mooring the boat matched that rhythm, though he did not seem to realize it.  
  
His shirt had some unbuttoned during the heat of the day - as had Will's - and neither made any move to do them up. As she watched both pale ivory skin and smooth bronzed skin move in the shifting Tortugan light, Dana suddenly became conscious of how she looked. She smoothed her burgundy tresses before covering them with her leather cap so that only the curled edges were visible. She buttoned her thin dark shirt nearly - but with all honesty, not altogether closely - to her throat.  
  
She fancied her own blue eyes captured the flickering light in as fetching a way as did Jones', then caught herself quickly: she was dangerously close to becoming a Mary Sue. With that thought like an unpleasant taste in her mouth, she shrugged into her long coat. She carefully left the coat open, not merely due to the warmth of the night, but to make known the pistols that rested on either side of her hips.  
  
Will, grudgingly, watched her ready herself with an appraising eye. Jones did the same, though he had no such haughty pride to prevent him from commenting. "You look good, Dana. You look especially ... " he paused, searching for an appropriate word while Dana turned pink. "You look ... dangerous." She looked very briefly disappointed, then put on a satisfied face and gave Jones a coy tip of her hat.  
  
"Pleased to hear it, sir. And make no mistake, it is an apt observation."  
  
Jones' eyes dropped to the pistol at her hip. "I don't doubt it. Mind if I stick with you on our little tour?" He smiled in a way that might have been called shy. "Every man should be so lucky as to have such a lethal escort." She smiled widely, and accepted Jones' arm as they stepped up onto the dock. Pip, head cocked, watched the two of them go, then quailed at being left behind. He flapped to Dana's shoulder, and she suddenly looked eerily pirate-like. She would have despised to know it, Will thought.  
  
He watched them start to leave, and watched Dana pause and turn back to him. "Look, I won't insult you by wishing you luck," she said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over Tortuga's nearby din. "But I do care about you, Will. I hope that I see you again."   
  
He nodded, slowly and silently. She opened her mouth as though she would say something more, then closed it and nodded in kind. Beside her, Jones bit his lip, then raised a brief hand in farewell. Will turned away from them then, and bent under the pretense of doing up his boots.  
  
In truth, as he pulled taut the strings, he was very afraid. 


	16. Jack's Coconut OR Tortugan Streets

Author's Note - I shall forever sing the praises of a properly made croissant and a piping mug of jasmine green tea.  
  
Sixteen  
  
As dawn broke over the island in the same way that it had before and that it surely would again, Jack Sparrow was to be found -   
  
"All right, love! That's enough! Just forget it!"  
  
Umm ... pardon me?  
  
"Look darling, we're no good to you without Will, are we? So you just rewind that bit and start again, and make sure Will saves us so we can play a decent part in this story! Savvy?"  
  
Uh ... okay. Savvy.  
  
Then, um, then I guess we'll try this again? Okay.  
  
Ahem. Here we go.  
  
Sixteen  
  
Dana and Jones strolled down the street. It's very easy to say simply that, but in truth, there was much more to it.  
  
The street was a street in Tortuga, and as such, it is possible to make several - and most likely correct - assumptions. Firstly, it can be assumed that Dana and Jones were not alone in the street. That assumption is an accurate one, because there were, in fact, many other people in the street. There were rather a lot of them.   
  
A second assumption might be that, in keeping with the nature of Tortuga, the alcohol was flowing freely. As such, mugs were clapping together in cheers and brandy was wetting lips and beards and these many (many) people were becoming very (very) drunk.  
  
Lastly, these numerous merry people were all of them displaying the correct attitude and demeanor recommended by Tortuga: they were all yelling and they were all breaking something. It can then be inferred that those people were in a rather rough mood that evening - though it wouldn't really have made much difference if it had been any other evening. So perhaps it would have been much more true to say that Dana and Jones fought their way down the street through a teeming, cursing, drunken mass of people.  
  
Keeping all of that in mind, it's really not surprising what happened.  
  
Jones was excited about showing Dana the bar where he had been employed when he was younger ("Ppffftttt ... younger," Dana snorted) and so Jones was threading a path to the door of the Bag End pub when he was stopped. A slim brunette had slunk into his way with clearly amorous intentions, then did a double-take and squealed with delight when she saw him.  
  
"Jones!" she, well, squealed and threw her arms around his neck. "I can't believe it's you, darling!" And before Jones - or the bewildered Dana - could protest, she kissed him, long and hard, on the mouth.  
  
Blue eyes wide, Jones grabbed hold of her upper arms in order to detach her from his face. At the same time, a large (aren't they always?) pot-bellied man with a wild shock of hair that seemed to have crept onto his face and formed a beard, appeared. He laid his watery, bloodshot eyes on the spectacle of his - another very probably correct assumption - lady smooching another man. Another short-and-easily-squashable man.  
  
"Oi!" he bellowed, and Dana would have allowed herself to be rocked back on her heels by the force of his voice if she hadn't seen the glint of gun metal at his belt. Quicker than quick, she realized the direction this encounter might take, and she slipped the angry man's gun from his belt with the finely polished motion of a thief. There, she thought: if this should turn ugly, three guns for Dana and zero for the poorly groomed gentleman.  
  
"What're ya doin' wif me girl?" he boomed, and swept the spluttering wench into his embrace wif, er, with one beefy arm.  
  
Now that he could breathe, Jones did not seem so flustered. "Delilah and I used to be good friends. And besides, she kissed me, not the other way around."  
  
The man did not seem convinced, and as seems to naturally happen during such times, a gaggle of his goony friends picked up the scent of a fight and elbowed their way over. "Wot's wrong 'ere, Tommy?" one growled. The man - Tommy - narrowed his eyes at Jones.  
  
"This 'ere boy's been pawin' at me Delilah."  
  
"Your Delilah?" another, heavily tattooed man said. "That's not right at all."  
  
"What's all this 'my' and 'your' business anyway," said Dana, evidently a touch too loudly. "From what I've heard, it's against the rules in Tortuga to form a monogamous* relationship with anyone."  
  
With large, incredulous eyes, the scruffy gang turned to Dana, as though noticing her for the first time. She regarded them in turn. "I don't know who ye be, little miss," Tommy warned, brandishing a sausage-sized finger at her, "but unless ye'd like yer turn after this miniature man here, I suggest ye keep t'yer own business." There was an ominous cracking of knuckles from the man at his side and a muttering of agreement from the rest.   
  
Dana still had Tommy's gun in her hand. She spun it through her fingers now, and presented it to him handle first. "Then you'll probably be needing this in order to take care of your business. But I warn you, sir. Point it at my friend, and you and your associates will find yourselves in more trouble than you thought you'd be in tonight."  
  
Tommy's mouth creaked open in a smile. He was missing several of his teeth. "And if I point it at you, little thief?"  
  
Dana smiled too. She had all of her teeth. "That's why I'm giving it back to you. You ~are~ going to point it at me, and it's going to be in your last, laughable, attempt at self-defense."  
  
There was a hearty 'ho ho ho!' from all around Dana and Jones, but Tommy made no move to take back his gun. Dana clucked her tongue and shook her head. "I didn't peg you for a cowardly man, Tommy. But I suppose if you don't want to take it back - "  
  
Tommy suddenly made a swipe at Dana's hand, and following that, several things happened at once.  
  
Dana, who found both hands abruptly empty, immediately and gleefully filled them with her own pistols. Pip vacated her shoulder. Tommy pulled back the hammer on his own pistol, and Delilah fled deep into the crowded Tortugan street until she was out of sight. Jones, eyes blazing, punched the tattooed man solidly twice in the stomach and he doubled over. That all happened first.  
  
Here is what happened next: Jones delivered - what he proudly considered - a perfectly executed left jab to the tattooed man's nose and a right hook under his chin, causing both to erupt in scarlet. Dana had cocked and readied both of her own pistols and brought them to meet Tommy's chest behind his outstretched arm and half as many pistols. Two large men descended on Jones from behind.  
  
Keeping up? Good, I'll introduce the third step of this, the Tortugan Waltz: those two men laid hold of Jones, though they nearly had to bend over to do so. Tommy's finger tightened on his trigger, then slackened because Dana's fingers had tightened faster. Both Tommy and Tattooed Man fell into heaps on the ground.  
  
Lastly: Dana, eyes watering from the acrid gunsmoke, turned to Jones, and was as surprised as his would-be assailants to discover that he was no longer there. All of this had happened so quickly that Dana's heart had barely sped to more than its contented pace, and so neither did it startle her when her sleeve was tugged in the direction of 'away' by someone she could not see. She blinked the tears from her eyes, and found herself immersed in the crowded street. She wove between and ducked underneath arms and arms, then started to slow as the scene of Tommy's demise and Tattoo's bludgeoning was left, unnoticed by everyone and everything else, amidst the din. She slid her still-warm pistols back into their holsters and looked around for Jones.  
  
She opened her mouth to call for him - useless as she knew it would be among the multitude of voices the air was heavy with - and was startled to find that he was already at her elbow and speaking. "Leave the talk for later. It would be best to disappear for a bit right now." His hair and eyes were slightly wild.  
  
He put one hand on her arm to tug her through the crowd, and as they fought their way through the throng, his other hand - she noticed distractedly - fumbled something back inside his buttoned shirt. For the second time, the wink and sparkle of a metal chain on Jones' neck caught Dana's eye. But as soon as she thought she saw it, it was gone, and the saying of 'out of sight out of mind' held true for the gun maker who was led this way and that down the street.  
  
Jones had come abruptly to a door - Dana had hardly noticed them approaching the building - and had opened it.   
  
The inside was brighter than the exterior Tortugan evening, and Dana blinked several times as Jones (without relinguishing his hold on her arm) led to a table that was - time to act surprised and not analyze too much how convenient this always seems - nestled in the relatively uncrowded and infamous back corner. Unnoticed, they sat.  
  
"Well, that was interesting," said Jones brightly. He tore a thin length of material from his shirt sleeve and proceeded to bind it around his knuckles, which, Dana now noticed, were bleeding steadily. "You did very well back there. A proper welcome to Tortuga, wasn't it?"  
  
Dana nodded and absently wondered what Pip had gotten himself into. "Did you know any of those men?"  
  
Jones shook his head. "You don't need to here. I knew - at one point - Delilah, and that was enough for everyone."  
  
"That's amazing. If things like that happen to us when we're just walking down the street -"  
  
" - then what in the world could be happening to Will?" he finished. "Excellent question. But I have no clue."  
  
"We shouldn't have left him." Dana sighed and leaned back in her chair. "That was so stupid of me." She tipped her head back and studied the wooden ceiling.  
  
Jones tried to be reassuring. "You know he'll be fine ... probably." Dana didn't look at him.  
  
"I just wasn't thinking." She sounded angry. "I don't know what I'll do if Roberts kills him! I need Will."  
  
Jones cleared his throat and studied the handiwork of his bandaged knuckles in silence. After a moment he said, "Do ... are you and Will ... ?" He trailed off, cheeks flushing. Dana straightened in her chair.  
  
"What? Oh, Jones, no. No. It's just that - "  
  
Just then, and with a swirl of skirts and dark hair, a familiar figure dropped into the remaining chair at the table.  
  
Leave it to Carine to spoil a potentially interesting moment.  
  
"Oh, you Flint!" she crowed, ignoring completely the startled Jones. "Just 'oo d'you think you are? Eh?" Dana, Jones thought, looked decidedly less than thrilled at the unlikely appearance of this lady.  
  
"How - uh, Carine, how did you get here?"  
  
Carine shook a finger at her and she flinched. "Oh, Carine's got 'er ways, don't you doubt that, you thievin' little 'ooligan. Where's me William?"  
  
"Will? I don't know." Carine paused in mid-fingershake.   
  
"Wot? You mean 'ee's not wi' you?"  
  
Dana shook her head. "We had sort of ... a quarrel. We went our separate ways for a bit. I have no idea where he's gone."  
  
Carine considered this. Jones looked her over as she did. "You know, you look a little familiar." She glanced up, saw him and decided to look longer than a mere glance allowed, and smiled.  
  
"Name's Carine Cash - bookkeeper an' cook o' the Poco back in Port Royale."  
  
Jones nodded. "I know the Poco. Nice little place. Good food there." Carine beamed, and Dana rolled her eyes.  
  
"Speaking of Port Royale," she put in before Carine could gloat, "why aren't you in Port Royale?"  
  
Carine's triumphant grin faded and was replaced with an indignant sniff. "Well it's your fault, really. There I was, runnin' the Poco as usual when days pass an' pass and there's no word from me sister. Melanie Cash is me sister, you see," she said to Jones. "An wot's more, she sends me letters a few times o'week, wot wif 'er bein' in such a dangerous line o' work an all. So I says to meself, 'Where's that Will? 'Ee's the one 'oo sent 'er out on this last job, and so 'ee's the one I should be seein' if she don't come back and don't send me nothin'.'  
  
So off I go, look look look, an there's not a William to be found. 'This is surely strange,' says I, 'for no man would up an disappear from a nice place like our Port, especially wif cookin' like mine to see 'im through each day.'" She looked pointedly at Dana. "Leastways, not one 'oo's in 'is right mind." Dana coughed. It sounded like a chuckle.  
  
Carine continued: "'Carine, Carine,' I says again to meself. 'Where's that no-good-boots-on-me-table Dana Flint? I bet she's got me William somewhere.' So around and around I looks, and do I find a Flint? Not a one, not a bit. Well, things are turning just luverly fer old Carine, wot wif no sister and missin' Will an Flint." She leaned close into the table, as though imparting a great secret. "So off I go to the dock and put some coins in the right pockets to find out where you've run off to wifout so much as a by-your-leave. And now I've found you, but I think you're one Willaim short."  
  
"I think your accent is getting stronger," Dana remarked.  
  
"Nonsense. The author's just getting' the 'ang o' writin' it.." She paused and turned serious. "Do you 'ave any idea wot's befallen me sister, Flint?" she ventured quietly. "I am worried."  
  
"I wish I had an answer for you, Carine. All I have is an idea. Will mentioned something about her finding Jack, but then being marooned." She laughed, a short bark. "Would you believe that's why we're here? To go and find her?"  
  
"Wifout Will?"  
  
"It wasn't my idea - it was his. But yes, now that you mention it, it does seem very foolish to have let him wander off on his own." She grit her teeth. "To wander off, indeed. And now we don't even know where he's going."  
  
Jones cleared his throat. "Regretting what we've done won't change that it happened. We'll find him, Dana."  
  
She looked strained, but nodded in agreement. "In the meantime, Carine, just how did you get here?"  
  
"Oh that? That was the easiest part, dearie. This gent Fraser's a regular at me Poco, and a few days before 'ee'd mentioned to me that 'ee'd gotten a new job over 'ere in Tortuga. I went wif 'im."  
  
"What sort of job did he get?" Jones asked conversationally, and yawned.  
  
Carine scrunched up her face in thought. "Mmm ... ee was goin' to be mannin' the rigs on a boat. A ship run by a Roberts fellow. I thought the name sounded a bi' familiar, but I didn't think to ask 'im. Last o' that 'ee said was the fact that 'ee was meetin' 'is new Cap at the Cliffs of Insanity hostel." She stopped, then looked at each of them. Jones' eyes were wide and Dana's mouth had dropped open. "Wish I could be more 'elpful, loves."  
  
"Oh," Dana managed to get out. "I think you've done plenty, Carine."  
  
"You did," agreed Jones. "Now all that's left is to get ready for the exciting chapter."  
  
Carine grinned. "What wonderful timin'!"  
  
  
  
* For those of you who haven't already clicked on the Dictionary function (you can do that you know, and you all should much more often to make sure all these authors are using their words properly)'monogamous' means an exclusive, one-on-one relationship. Not the stuff of port-towns, methinks. 


	17. The Dread Pirate Roberts : Revisited

Author's Note - Ah, the wonders of a good book. Many details from this chapter lifted from Morgensten's 'Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure,' The Princess Bride.  
  
Seventeen  
  
It was only when his opponent's blade cut neatly through his parries and halted a breath away from his throat that Will Turner began to sweat.  
  
The Dread Pirate Roberts was good.  
  
"I was just thinking," remarked Roberts amiably as Will ducked under a slash and sidestepped another, "that you are quite skilled."  
  
"I was about to say the same," Will replied, kicking a fallen chair out of his path and turning to meet the pirate's blade. "The tales people tell of you do you justice."  
  
Roberts, behind his black mask, looked very pleased. "I'm glad to hear it. It is ever so important for those in my line of work to keep a decent image."  
  
The two were fighting amidst the hastily abandoned tables and chairs of a - now - empty tavern. It was connected to the hostel where Roberts had been staying. Will had come to the tavern, noted the masked figure who, in an apparently teeming place, sat with a wide space given him on either side. He had asked him if he had heard of or seen one called the 'Dread Pirate Roberts'. The man had smiled while he finished his drink.  
  
And then he had unsheathed his blade.  
  
"I was taught by the finest pirate captain for many years," Roberts continued. He met and parried Will's sword, seemingly without thought, as he spoke. "It was an excellent experience. Made me the man that I am today."  
  
"I take it you were a good student," said Will with a sudden thrust to the right.  
  
"I was indeed," Roberts agreed, easily blocking it. "But what of you, my fine friend? I must admit, it is not often that one encounters a gentleman of such skill who is still so young."  
  
Will considered this as his blade met blade a second and third time. He was almost beginning to like this man. "I was orphaned and raised by a blacksmith. I developed a passion for the sword in my free time." He swiped viciously at Roberts' chest, but the man leaned quickly out of harm's way. Will tried to hide his disappointment at failing to nick even his shirt.  
  
"Such a shame," said Roberts, "that you were not raised by a pirate."  
  
"My father was a pirate."  
  
"Really?" Roberts seemed genuinely glad to hear it. "Well, now I won't feel so awful when I kill you. After all, you've had a fair chance at it, haven't you? And yet you're not full blooded enough for me to have to kill you without a clear conscience. If not for our circumstances, I think we would get along splendidly, you and I."  
  
Will didn't answer; he swung his sword at Roberts' legs instead, but the man was very agile. He leapt over the blade.  
  
"However, my talented friend, it is something of a mystery why you would choose to end your life by challenging me. Are you a very unhappy person?" The tip of his sword grazed Will's bicep and drew a thin line of blood through his shirt.  
  
"No, I'm fine," Will answered, not noticing. "Actually, I had come here to ask you something."   
  
With another flick of Roberts' wrist, a line appeared at Will's other bicep. "Now would be a good time to ask." Will couldn't argue with that.  
  
"On my way here from the dock, I couldn't help but notice a certain ship moored there. The Yellow Dart, I believe it's called."  
  
"That's a pretty name," said Roberts.  
  
"Well that ship happens to belong to my friend, and it would be wonderful to see both ship and friend again."  
  
"Ah," said Roberts. "I capture many ships - as such, my resume is quite excellent. Refresh my memory as to this friend of yours."  
  
Will, arm tiring, switched sword hands. With a small smile, Roberts did the same. "The ship belongs to a Captain Melanie Cash. A Mr. Jack Sparrow was on board as well."  
  
Roberts appeared to think. He stroked his chin with one hand while parrying with the other. "I remember these friends of yours. I ran into them a little over a week ago, I believe."  
  
"Did you?"  
  
"Yes. I killed them."  
  
Will was more than a little surprised. "But I was sent ... "  
  
"Oh, don't look so shocked. It's part of my job, and sometimes it can be a very pleasant one." There was more power behind Roberts' attacks now, and Will found himself forced again and again onto the defensive. "Though sometimes it does force me to finish interesting conversations. So while I hate to end this - "  
  
"Wait a moment. I received a letter from Melanie. She said they'd been marooned." Will thought he saw Roberts' eyes narrow.  
  
"That's impossible, my friend. The Dread Pirate Roberts never leaves any survivors."  
  
"I could show you the letter," offered Will.  
  
Roberts sighed. His sword whistled through the air as he brought it down on Will, but the blacksmith met it solidly. "Well, now it seems that I must kill you for sure."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"The Dread Pirate Roberts never leaves survivors," he said. "Everyone knows that. Little children grow up saying that! Do you have any idea how long it's taken for me to cultivate such a fantastic image? I practically have a catchphrase." He advanced on Will now, and the blacksmith had to keep glancing behind him to make sure he didn't run into anything. "It just wouldn't be the same replacing that with something like - 'the Dread Pirate Roberts who occasionally leaves survivors.'" He snorted. "They would call me the Indecisive Pirate Roberts. That just doesn't have the same ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
It didn't, but Will wasn't about to say anything like that. The song of steel was getting to be louder and louder as Roberts' swinging blade missed by less and less each time. A little longer, Will noted, and he would be backed up against the bar. And pinned there.  
  
He glanced around wildly, and on the ground just behind him there was an overturned - but he hoped still relatively full - sack of flour. He angled his retreat to step over it, and when Roberts brought his arm back with the intent to bring it down on his head, Will hooked his boot underneath the sack and kicked it high. Roberts' blade met the sack of flour first.  
  
It had been full.  
  
Will had clapped his hand over his mouth and nose when he kicked up the sack, and so when it exploded into a cloud of white, Roberts began to cough. The pirate's black mask and outfit were immediately covered in flour, but Will didn't intend to stay long enough to watch him. Amidst Roberts' wild slashes, he ducked low and was at the tavern door.  
  
All at once, there was Roberts' sword, ringing in the wood beside his ear. The door was effectively nailed shut, and Will couldn't help feeling a certain amount of déjà vu.   
  
"Why, that was excellently done!" Roberts exclaimed. "Excellent indeed. You would have made a magnificent pirate you know." He came and plucked his sword from the door and leveled it at Will's throat. "It is quite the shame that I've got to kill you."  
  
Oh, for that drunkard Browne and his bottle now, Will thought.  
  
And the author, rather stuck until now, thought that was a wonderful idea.  
  
From behind Roberts' head came a sudden and glassy 'smash' and with an expression of surprise, the Dread Pirate Roberts crumpled at Will's feet. Standing in his place, with half a bottle in her hand, was Dana.  
  
She was shaking her head. "I really hate to say that I told you so, Will," she indicated the wounds on his arms, "but I told you so."  
  
"Dana - "  
  
"No, Will. There's neither time nor need to apologize right now."  
  
"No, Dana, look." He nudged the fallen Roberts with a toe. The man groaned and stirred. "He's not completely out cold." Dana looked with disappointment from the broken bottle in her hand to the (white) man in black on the ground and made a face. "Apparently I need more practice."  
  
"I agree," muttered Roberts.  
  
~  
  
They propped up the man in black (white) on a bar stool while Carine sat up on the bar behind him with one of Dana's pistols poking him the back of the head. She looked very pleased with herself, and especially pleased to see that Will was alright. "Runnin' off wif such folk as that Flint," she had tsk tsked. "S'a wonder you're still 'ere and 'ole." *  
  
Jones and Dana were also relieved to see Will in one piece. Only Roberts seemed to be unhappy. "I've never been beaten," he kept saying. "I've never been beaten."  
  
"You weren't beaten, technically," said Dana helpfully from behind the counter as she rummaged in the bar. "You were bludgeoned. With a bottle. Oooh, speaking of bottles ... " She popped up with rum in hand and a grin. "Okay, Will. I'm ready. Have at 'im."  
  
"You'll have to kill me," Roberts said. "The Dread Pirate Roberts must stay a fantastic legend, and so he must die as one. I will not allow this name to be sullied. Neither shall I speak to you. Your friends are dead."  
  
Will rolled his eyes and searched his pockets for Melanie's letter, but Jones was studying Roberts' face intently. "Why do you were a mask? Were you burned with acid, or something like that?"  
  
"Not at all," answered Roberts. "Masks are quite comfortable. I suspect they'll be all the rage in the future."  
  
"Really?" said Jones, hoping that the audience was sufficiently ready for the big, forthcoming coincidence. "I think it's to prevent people from recognizing you, Westley."  
  
Roberts' mouth fell open. Will and Carine's mouths fell open. Dana didn't open her mouth - the rum would have fallen out. "What did you call me?"  
  
Jones moved so that he was in front of the masked man, and bent until he was nose to nose with him. "That was your name, wasn't it? Westley. You were not so unlike us, once."  
  
"My name," said Roberts, slowly and unbelieving. "Yes, that was my name, My real name. How do you know who I am?" Jones reached around his head and undid Roberts' mask. The man revealed was handsome and blonde, and surprisingly young. Dana whistled, but Jones did not look surprised.  
  
"What happened to you, Westley? Buttercup believes you are dead. When I left, I could not remember seeing her in such despair."  
  
Roberts' - Westley's - blue eyes went wide, both in recognition of Jones and in muted horror at his words. "You're Number Three from my village! Jones Underhill! But do you - could you - speak truly? Is my Buttercup in anguish?"  
  
Jones waved his hand. "Slow down, Westley, for my sake and the sake of these good people. First and most important things first - Buttercup is miserable without you. You must return to her with all haste."  
  
"'Oo's Bu'ercup?" asked Carine. At Jones' direction she relaxed her guard with the pistol. "And 'oo's 'ee?" *  
  
"My true name is Westley," said the unmasked young man. "I set sail to seek fortune enough to marry my beloved Buttercup some years ago. I sailed from the very village where Jones and I (ready for another coincidence?) spent a happy childhood. But my ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. And he never leaves survivors."  
  
Will opened his mouth to say something to the contrary, but Westley went on. "He was about to kill me when I asked him not to. 'Please,' I said. 'I have to live.' He asked me why. 'True love,' I told him, and that stayed his hand." Both Dana and Carine looked as though they would melt; Will and Jones exchanged an amused glance.  
  
He continued: "He kept me on his ship and taught me many things. Every night he would say, 'Well, good job today, Westley. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.' But he never did, and as time passed, he let me in on a great secret.  
  
'I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,' he told me. 'My name is Ryan. I inherited this mask and ship from a man who was not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either.' As it turned out, the real Dread Pirate Roberts had grown so rich that he had retired some time ago - but he had passed on the ship and the name, because the seas will ever need such a legend."  
  
Dana eyed him. "So you're just an ex-farmboy?"   
  
"That's right," Jones agreed. "A horse bit him on his birthday once."  
  
"Well wot's that business 'bout Jones bein' Number Three then?"  
  
"Actually, that's no longer accurate." Jones batted his eyelashes. "I'm Number Two now."  
  
"Number Two wot?!"  
  
Westley turned to Carine and his piercing blue eyes met her liquid brown ones. "Well you see, there are, in the world, very attractive people."  
  
"Obviously," she murmured.  
  
"And those people are ranked in order. The most attractive man or women is Number One, the second most attractive is Number Two, and so forth." He looked wistful. "My Buttercup is Number Eight when last I spoke to her. Eighth out of all the women in the world ..."  
  
Jones coughed. "It may not be what you want to hear, Westley, but she was officially made Number One just before I left." Westley looked pained, then shook his head. "I'm Number Two for the men," continued Jones. "I think that Three was taken by some pirate doctor - "  
  
" - and number one is a pirate, too," finished Westley.  
  
"Wot's 'is name?" asked Carine, interested.  
  
"I think it's John Sparrow? No. Jack Sparrow." Jones replied. He looked startled then. "Will, isn't that ... ?"  
  
"Actually, yes." Will seemed surprised that he had forgotten. "That's the whole point of why we're here! My friends aren't dead, Westley. All I want is their ship back, and for you to point out where they are." Westley didn't look certain. "Besides," Will added, "as far as I'm concerned, that information won't come from the Dread Pirate Roberts, but from Westley."  
  
"A man that I'm sure we'll forget once we leave this tavern," finished Dana. Westley was considering that when Jones put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Buttercup's waiting, farmboy."  
  
And the Yellow Dart was saved.  
  
  
  
  
  
* I think Dana was right about her accent getting stronger. 


	18. Meetin' and Greetin'

Author's Note - Here's a clever trick: whisper to someone that you have a secret, and when they bend their unsuspecting ear towards you, shriek into it! Hilarity ensues.  
  
Eighteen  
  
Jack was sunbathing and Melanie was pretending that she didn't notice. It's very easy to say simply that, but in truth, there was much more to it. In fact, there can be made several assumptions.  
  
Firstly, a tan line is a thing unseemly on a pirate, and Jack was a very proper pirate. This being said, Jack Sparrow - my friend and yours - was completely in the buff. Nude. Nekkid.  
  
Kinda gets the ol' oars churning, don't it?  
  
It should probably (regretfully) be mentioned that by the time this chapter was taken up, Jack had already finished his front and was dozing quite serenely on his stomach. Oh well, can't win them all.  
  
Another assumption that can be made is that Jack - being Jack - knew completely well that Melanie was within spitting distance from him. And he did: in fact, it had been Melanie who was perched on the sunny little rock plateau first. She had been meticulously sharpening her boot dagger (which lends itself to dullness very quickly, I've been told) and humming to herself as the branches rustled over her head and she dangled her bare feet over the water that rippled a short drop below. Then there had come Jack, sans his skivvies - though he still wore his hat - and stretched out beside her.  
  
She had stopped her merry tune, because the third and last assumption is that because it was the lean, browned body of Jack Sparrow languidly unrolled beside her in the corner of her eye, and not some other, it was very difficult not to pay attention.  
  
Melanie continued to sharpen her little blade without pause, but soon discovered that due to the very mystical and undoubtedly useful properties of its shiny surface, she did not need to look directly at Jack in order to see him. This, she thought, is full of possibility. She angled it a little further, then -   
  
"There's no need to be so discreet, love. 'Snothin' you 'aven't seen before."  
  
"Despite being a scallywag and captain of their ilk," Melanie replied without turning, "I am still something of a lady."  
  
Jack snorted.  
  
Melanie continued to turn her knife this way and that to catch the image of the sunbathing pirate. "In any case, I can see you perfectly well whilst retaining my dignity and poise." She stopped her movement suddenly. "Ah, see? There we are. Pirate bum on my knife and no one is the wiser."  
  
Jack chuckled and wiggled his rear, but the other captain did not join in. She was staring fixedly into the reflection on the blade with her mouth partway open. Jack noticed this. "Wot's wrong, Melanie?" he asked slyly. "See somethin' t'make you blush?"  
  
The corners of Melanie's mouth twitched and she turned to look directly at him. "Not exactly. It's just that only now have I noticed that very large and long-legged spider that has made its way onto your backside."  
  
With a bellow, Jack leapt to his feet. Well, leapt to one foot, because the other had placed itself a little too close to the edge of the embankment and slipped off. The rest of Jack went with it over the edge, and both he and his errant foot went tumbling into the pool below.  
  
After Melanie had wiped away the tears of laughter, she popped her head over the edge to peer at Jack who had stopped floundering. "Then again," she called, "I could have been mistaken."  
  
"That's a chance I'll be willing to take," returned the wet pirate. He shuddered in the water. Spiders.  
  
~  
  
Gibbs and the doctor Matthew were sitting at the beach and watching the little lass Carly and her monkey, who were up in a tree. "I still don't see how ye sail wi' em lad," Gibbs was saying. "Womenfolk, every one o' them."  
  
Matthew laughed. "Captain Melanie and I are ... very special friends. We've known each other for a long time; we know each other's 'ins and outs', so to speak." The young man shrugged. "Sailing on the Yellow Dart had been very lucrative for me. If I ever decided to find a permanent port, I would be able to live very comfortably."  
  
Gibbs winked. "Very comfortable and un-pirate-like. But that's not why we keep doin' it, is it. It ain't about the comforts o' the luxuries - it's about the salt in our veins."  
  
"You were born in the wrong generation, Gibbs," said Matthew with a smile. "We could have been fantastic shipmates, you and I."  
  
"On a ship full to th' brim o' th' fairer sex? I don't know about that, me boy. Methinks a superstitious ol' chap like me needs odds more in 'is favor than that." Both men laughed suddenly, and Milton was startled out of the tree.  
  
"Times like these call fer pints o' somethin'," said Gibbs wistfully. "What I wouldn't give." Matthew clapped him on the back.  
  
"How bad can it be? You've only been here and away from the taverns for barely a fortnight! Do the aged always become thirsty for drink as quickly as this?"  
  
Gibbs waggled a finger at him. "You'd be surprised, lad. Mother's milk it is. 'Tis harder fer some t' go without than others."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
Gibbs was about to reply when Jack emerged from the trees with his arms full of coconuts. Matthew raised his eyebrows as the pirate deposited them at their feet. "Look!" Jack cried. "There's plenty for everyone. Bottom's up!" Matthew and Gibbs glanced down at the mound, then at one another.  
  
"Others like Jack," Gibbs finished as his captain wedged a hole in his coconut with his knife.  
  
"You know, I thought that having nothing to drink for days on end would bother me," Jack said as he did so. "But it certainly doesn't. Not at all." Jack downed the entirety of the milk inside with a single swallow and tossed the fruit aside. "Not at all. I've hardly even noticed."  
  
"Hardly indeed," Gibbs agreed. Matthew nodded amiably when the pirate's slightly crazed eyes flicked in his direction.  
  
"I think we've all done a decent job of it," Matthew said and Jack sat himself in the sand beside him.   
  
"But I miss holding a bottle," sighed Jack, and the other two could not help but agree. They reclined there, bare toes in the fine beach sand for quite a long while. The ocean stretched out before them farther than their eyes could reach: pulsating, empty and blue.  
  
"Green," murmured Jack after a time. "I dreamed that the water was green." Gibbs and Matthew both thought it would have been wiser to politely ignore his mutterings, but Gibbs couldn't help but say:  
  
"Green, Jack?" Matthew wondered idly how much coconut milk Jack had put away.  
  
"Aye." Jack's eyes were far away. "I had a dream ... and the ocean was green. And Will was in it."  
  
Both Gibbs and the young doctor looked startled. "Our lad Will?"  
  
Jack nodded slowly. His gaze never strayed from the distant horizon. "I can barely remember it," he said carefully, as if a too-sudden movement or motion would cause the returning dream fragments to turn and flee. "But I remember the green, and I remember Will. I remember that it made me feel icky * when I woke up. Unhappy."  
  
Gibbs leaned closer. "Why, Jack? How could that 'ave bothered ye?" Jack shook his head and was about to express his own frustration when the lookout's - Monica's - voice startled everyone:  
  
"Ahoy! Ship! Ship on the water!" they heard her cry, though she was not in sight.  
  
Jack looked wildly around. "Wot? Where - "   
  
Matthew was the only one who did not seem surprised. "That's our girl - can spot a ship half an ocean away."  
  
"But where is she?"  
  
Matthew shrugged. "Other side of the island? Doesn't matter though. Monica's never been wrong. And that means," he rose and swiped the sand from the seat of his pants, "that we are rescued."  
  
Jack and Gibbs stood and squinted. Neither could distinguish between sky and water at such a distance, never mind make out any shape that they could guarantee was not a sea-bird. Matthew watched them and chuckled.  
  
"Don't worry yourselves. I'll bet there's nothing there to find."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Then how - "  
  
Matthew shook his head and smiled. "It's a lookout's job," was all he said.  
  
And he was right. There was nothing to see on the horizon until late afternoon, and even then, the approaching ship's colors were a mystery to all but the lookout herself. She seemed happy. "It doesn't seem possible," Monica said brightly, blinking one large green eye before the other. "But that's our ship out there. That's our Yellow Dart."  
  
It was evening when the Yellow Dart halted before the island and dropped a single jollyboat. Captain Melanie set off around the island to rouse and round up the remainder of her crew while Jack, Matthew and Gibbs stood on the beach to await the little boat's arrival. It was difficult to identify the figures that rowed it through the deepening dark, and it was only when its hull touched sand that the three men allowed themselves to break into happy grins. **  
  
"Will!" Gibbs roared and pounded the young man good-naturedly on the back. "We knew ye'd come, boy. We knew."  
  
Jack was equally pleased. He embraced the beaming William then held him at arms length. "You've lost that fancy hat." Will laughed, mentioned something about still having it somewhere at home, and shook Matthew's hand. Matthew smiled at him, then his eyes strayed to Will's companion who had been standing just behind him in her long coat and hat.  
  
Jack noticed this companion as well and extended his hand. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, mister ... ?"  
  
"Miss, actually," Dana replied and removed her hat. "Though to be perfectly honest, that's probably not entirely accurate either. Dana Flint." Jack watched her with a sly smile as she shook the hand of Matthew and Gibbs. She paused when she reached the pirate captain and looked him up and down.  
  
"Captain Jack Sparrow," he offered.  
  
"I figured that. You don't look quite like how I imagined you."  
  
Jack raised his eyebrows. "You've been imagining me? William, I think I like this lady." All chuckled and Dana was about to replace her hat when a small group returned from their final expedition of the island. As they stepped onto the beach, Dana and Will turned -   
  
And so it was that Captain Melanie Cash and Dana Flint regarded one another for the first time.  
  
* Ah, Mort Rainey - how I wish I owned your hair. And the opportunity to nap with you after eating Doritos.   
  
** But come on - had there ever been any doubt? 


	19. Another Letter

Nineteen  
  
Dear Mr. William Turner,  
  
I must admit to you that it is with a certain hesitancy that this letter is being written, as all of our correspondence in the past has been extraordinarily good-natured and I have no wish to see it become otherwise in the future.   
  
As you are no doubt aware, due to the nature of my profession, I am faced with something of a professional dilemma. It appears that in light of events of the future, I have been advised to – how can one articulate precisely – remove the facet of a certain significant other temporarily from your profile.  
  
I realize it may perhaps be necessary to present you with due evidence as to how such a decision was reached and to assure you that such a thing would be in your best interest, as I can recommend that it is. It is hardly required that you be reminded of the independent and non-conformist traits of one Elizabeth Swann, and indeed, it would be quite redundant of me to inform you of the pleasantness she has found in her newly tasted freedoms. Though I am aware that these things do not form a concrete basis for a drastic change of heart on her part by any stretch of the imagination, they do allow room for several possibilities, which I now present to you.  
  
Elizabeth could become involved in a profession or in the community. This is an interesting choice because it is itself multi-faceted; she may be absent for a long period of time, or forget you entirely and/or redirect her passion for you towards something else.  
  
Elizabeth could fall in love with another. I realize that this is not the most realistic of alternatives, but I remind you that it is only needed to log onto fanfiction.net to confirm its popularity. I do not feel it is appropriate to state here the most common object of these redirected desires – suffice it to say that he may be someone you know well.  
  
Elizabeth could die. Again, before you protest, refer to much of the current fiction to witness that this alternative is appealing to a rather large audience.   
  
The final suggestion that I can make is that you forget her – perhaps though, only temporarily – altogether. Who knows, if I did not have the gall to send you this letter, you may not have remembered her until the end of the story anyway.  
  
As your temporary benefactor, I felt obligated to consult with you. Please keep in mind that Elizabeth's fate is far from limited to the above suggestions, but she will, in some way, need to be removed from the picture. While it is quite true that authority over these matters rests ultimately with me, I felt it permissible to allow you to voice your opinion, William. These things tend to crop up in your line of work (your current line of work being fodder for fan fiction until the advent of Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Treasures of the Lost Abyss), and I do sympathize. However, I cannot allow empathy to come before my professional duties in writing said fiction, so we will both have to content ourselves with a compromise – me with the limitation of being unable to deviate from your character, and you with the assurance that spending your remaining chapters in the company of a diverse female cast is not entirely unpleasant.  
  
Wishing you and your companions the best,  
  
The Author.  
  
PS – I would appreciate it if you reminded Mr. Sparrow to thank me for finally conceding to his repeated request to do a scene nude. Let him know that he owes me a favour. He will know what kind you mean. 


	20. Long Stories

Author's Note - Please please PLEASE forgive the gratuitous account of the original characters. I know you don't care. I know that you're here for Will or Jack or whatever else you're here for. But this is a birthday gift for a buddy and as such, it's going to have a certain level of original character rubbish in it. Fear not, I'm holding back the bile too, and I promise it won't last long. And on a brief side note, MY birthday is coming up too. Therefore, someone needs to buy me Roux. If you have no idea who that is, you have been sadly deprived of Depp movies.  
  
Twenty  
  
Melanie extended her hand hesitantly. "And you are?"  
  
Dana grasped it. "Dana Flint." Captain Melanie Cash's hair was ridiculous - she had spent an uncomfortably long week on a deserted island. Dana Flint's hair was nowhere to be seen - it was tucked neatly under her cap. Captain Melanie Cash was clothed, albeit barely, in what remained of her clothing from a few chapters, er, days prior. Dana Flint's face was partially hidden from view by the high collar of her long leather jacket. Captain Melanie Cash's eyes were brown: they were dark and brooding. Dana Flint's eyes were blue: they were clear and sharp. The only thing the two women had in common at all was the intensity with which they were being watched by Jack, Will, Gibbs and the haggard crew of the Yellow Dart.  
  
The two shook hands slowly, cautiously, and each tried to quickly survey the other without appearing to. "I'll bet," quietly remarked Jack out of the side of his mouth to Will, "that this would be a very difficult scene to write." Will could only nod.  
  
"You look strangely familiar," Dana remarked, studying the captain's tanned face.  
  
"You just look strange," Melanie replied as she took in Dana's coat and hat. Each satisfied that they had thoroughly studied and catalogued the other to the best of her abilities, Melanie and Dana disengaged.  
  
"What happens now?" Melanie asked Will. "What happens now that I've delivered my cargo?" Both Jack and Will raised their eyebrows, but it was Jack that seemed more taken aback.  
  
"Cargo? Now you wait just a second there, darling. I'm a fellow pirate. Wot's more, I'm a fellow pirate captain." He sniffed dramatically. "A little more respect is in order than that."  
  
Melanie smiled indulgently. "All right. William, now that I have accompanied my equal and surely very talented comrade to you, what is to happen?"  
  
"To be fair," Dana interjected, "I think this entire affair was closer to a rescue than a delivery. After all, ~we~ are returning your ship."  
  
"By the powers you're right," Melanie agreed. "And because of such a kindness, I won't charge dear William for the ride home."  
  
"The generosity of pirates amazes me," said Dana dryly.   
  
Jack gave the gun maker a wolfish smile. "Oh don't doubt it, love. We can be very ... soft, when we want to be." Dana colored. Melanie rolled her eyes heavenward.  
  
"Enough," said Will. He had removed from his pocket a battered envelope and held it up. "If this is what I think it is, we may all be associating for a longer time. It would be best to get along." Melanie's eyes drifted low to Will's belt ... and coin pouch.  
  
"I think that might depend on the weight of your purse, sailor. This job's finished." Jack plucked the envelope from Will's fingers as she spoke and studied the remains of its wax seal.  
  
"Now that's interesting," he said. He winced inwardly - all fan fiction made him say that. He began to make a mental note to make his voice less appealing in the future, and then gave it up as an impossibility. Blasted catch phrases.  
  
"Oh? Do you recognize anything about it?"  
  
"Mmm ..." Jack opened the envelope and gingerly unfolded the letter. His rings winked softly in the evening dim and he had to squint to read the writing. Will watched Jack's face carefully, but the pirate captain kept his expression carefully neutral. Jack met will's eyes after a time. "So you've come running to me?"  
  
Will nodded slowly. "You're the best Sparrow I know."  
  
"The only one you mean, lad," Jack corrected and reread the parchment. "But I fail to see what I can do for you, never mind what you'd have to do for ~me~ to convince me to do it." His eyes met Will's again and this time there was a gleam of defiance in them. "As much as I hate to repeat myself - I see nothing in it for me."  
  
"Well that should all depend on what ~it~ entails," said Melanie. She squinted her eyes to read the scrap over Jack's shoulder. "It would be foolish to pass up a worthy and profitable enterprise." She smiled. "Though to be honest, we can always take the profitable over the worthy."  
  
Dana became angry. "This man thought he lost his father! He has been given a chance to prove otherwise and you two stand here discussing whether or not it is profitable for you to help - he's a friend who's just received the most important news of his life!" She was quieted when Will placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"They're pirates, Dana. I did not expect less."  
  
"Glad to hear that you are familiar with how the system works," Melanie said. Jack replaced the letter in the envelope and turned it to examine the seal again. "After all, there's bound to be long and costly involvement in a job like this. We don't even know where to begin looking for his father of yours. You don't know who sent you this letter."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I know who sent it," repeated Jack. He ran a dark finger across the wax. "I recognize this seal."  
  
Will was understandably interested. "Who is it from, Jack? Would they know about my father?"  
  
"About this quest o' yours, boy," Jack answered instead. "There's no use in goin'. You told me yourself 'ow you were enlightened as to Bill being sent to the depths of the ocean with a cannon 'round his ankles. 'Ow would someone 'ave survived something like that?"  
  
"The curse."  
  
Jack looked surprised. "What?"  
  
"The curse," Will explained patiently. Dana and Melanie were given the impression that they were about to hear an argument that the blacksmith had perfected over lengthy time in his head. "When my father was sent to the bottom of the ocean, the entire crew of the Black Pearl was still cursed. That includes him. Being under the water for a long time wouldn't have killed him if he couldn't be killed." Jack appeared to consider this. "And what's more, there was a large amount of time between then and when the curse was lifted. He had to have had time to escape or find land or something. I'm sure of it."   
  
Melanie had listened to all of this with large eyes, and when Will was finished, she found herself at a loss for words. "You ... your father," she said. "Your father was killed by pirates?"  
  
"He was a pirate, and was thrown overboard by his shipmates, yes."  
  
"And this curse business? What's all that about?"  
  
"It is a long story," Jack said quickly. "Long and boring. If I were to tell you, I would probably have to use the phrase 'Cortez himself' at least six times. It's not really worth showing without the aid of special effects - " Melanie opened her mouth to protest, " - but suffice it to say, there is, evidently, a chance that Will's father may be alive."  
  
"Will's pirate father," Melanie repeated, and looked the young blacksmith up and down as though seeing him for the first time. "That could certainly make things interesting."  
  
"I am no pirate," Will said sheepishly. "I have no idea what having the blood of a pirate in my veins is even supposed to mean. But if I found my father - "  
  
"And that is a very large and significant ~if~," Jack interjected.  
  
" - then maybe I could find out. And then I could find out who I am ... or who I'm supposed to be."  
  
Melanie was yawning and stretching. "Well my friend, you have certainly proven the worthiness of your cause. The prospect for profit, however, leaves something to be desired. And that something is, frankly, the profit." Dana's eyes narrowed.  
  
Will gestured helplessly. "I have nothing to offer," he admitted. "What I had, I've paid you to find Jack, and you've done that. I - I thought I would know what to do when I found him - I thought I would know what to do next - but I don't. All I have is this letter."  
  
"And you've got me," said Jack quietly and all heads turned in surprise. He bit his lip as though he knew what he had to say but desperately wanted to avoid saying it. He did not meet Will's eyes now.  
  
"Your father died in my name, mate. I thought that I had squared with that, and in a way, I had. But I had only made peace with meself. There are debts that I owe, and I think that the time has come to pay them, if I can." He pointed a finger at the incredulous Captain Melanie. "But don't let it in your pretty head that I've gone soft, love. The only thing that a scallywag - even one as salty as you or I - can't steal is honour. That, a man's got to build fer himself."  
  
Moved, Will smiled. "And besides," sighed Jack and put his arm around Will's shoulder. "We may pillage and plunder, we may rifle and loot ... but when it comes down to it in the end, we're all pirates from a bleedin' Disney movie."  
  
"A cryin' shame it is," muttered Dana and Melanie in unison, and the entirety of the female crew of the Yellow Dart that would be working in close quarters with the sultry and smouldering Captain Jack Sparrow and the heroic and dashing William Turner for the remaining chapters nodded sadly. 


	21. Underneath the Hat

Author's Note - Happy Easter to all and to all a good ... Easter! May all of your dreams be filled with marshmallow peeps and Cadbury mini eggs.  
  
Chapter Twenty-one  
  
"Give me back my bird."  
  
The afternoon was fair. While Melanie, Jack and Will were at the ship's helm, the rest of the crew was monkeying around in the rigging or below deck or sleeping in the forecastle, and the little waif Carly was holding out her browned and leathered hand to an amused Dana Flint.   
  
"Give. Him. Back."  
  
Dana, losing the battle not to laugh out loud at this impertinent little girl, asked, "Why? Pip's mine."  
  
"No he isn't!" Carly protested. Her voice threatened to rise to a pitch that would confirm her short years. "I found him! I taught him! He's mine." Dana pretended to think hard about that.  
  
"But I like him." She scratched the bluegreen feathers on the top of the bird's head and he muttered contentedly. Carly stuck out her bottom lip.  
  
"I like him, too."  
  
"Well you're not really being fair," said Dana reasonably. "I mean, you've already got a little fellow to sit on your shoulder. If I let you have Pip, you'll have something to sit on each shoulder and I won't have anything." Carly glanced at Milton who was indeed perched happily on her shoulder. She twitched her arm, and the black and white monkey obligingly moved and settled instead on the top of her curly head of hair.  
  
"There. Now I have two empty shoulders. There's plenty of room."   
  
Dana nodded. "Excellent. They are indeed. But if you look closely - " she jiggled her arm as well and Carly watched Pip flap up to perch on the woman's leather hat, " - you'll see that my shoulders are just as empty as yours. So now, what are we supposed to do?"  
  
Carly opened and closed her mouth while Dana smirked, and it should be made clear that it is quite a feat for someone so brash as a pirate to be rendered speechless by anything. In defeat, she puffed out her small chest and clambered up into the rigging that swung overhead. Milton kept his perch on her head easily, and Dana chuckled when the little girl was out of sight. She did not think she had heard the last of that discussion.  
  
In the forecastle of the Yellow Dart, Jones and Carine were reclining in hammocks that swayed gently with the motion of the ship. Carine was trying to sleep before her evening watch, but Jones was singing. What he was singing sounded like a rousing drinking song, and it was just loud enough to keep her awake:  
  
"We arrived in December and London was cold,  
  
We stayed in the bars along Charing Cross Road;  
  
We never saw nothin' but brass taps and oak,  
  
Kept the shine on the bar with the sleeves of our coats.  
  
You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,  
  
I've been gone for a week, I've been drunk since I left;  
  
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,  
  
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest.  
  
The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb,  
  
And the spirits we drank like a ghost in the room;  
  
I'm knackered again, come on, sleep take me soon,  
  
And don't lift up my head till the twelve bells at noon.  
  
You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,  
  
I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left;  
  
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,  
  
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest."  
  
Jones continued to hum merrily. "But you're no' drunk," Carine piped up. "Are you?"  
  
"No, I'm not. I'm just remembering other days."  
  
Carine smiled wearily. "I think Melanie wo' like tha' song."  
  
Jones returned the smile. "It is a favorite of mine."  
  
"You know," Carine said conversationally, "that song is so good, that in a few years I'm sure we'll all hear i' again on an album by a Canadian group called Spirit of the West."  
  
"I completely agree," Jones agreed. "And I'm sure that everyone will support their music by going out and buying three of each of their albums. Perhaps four."  
  
"Ooo, I cer'ainly 'ope so."  
  
Jones regarded her. "I see that you were trying to sleep. I'm sorry I've kept you awake." Carine dismissed him with a lazy wave of her hand.  
  
"Narry a worry, friend. You've a pretty voice. S' mo' than I can say for some on this ship." Jones raised his eyebrows in question, and Carine went on to explain about the singing talent - or, more accurately, the lack thereof - of her sister, and they both had a good laugh. Of course, because no one actually gets to hear this conversation, the author can't get bludgeoned for writing it. So nyah.  
  
At the helm of the Yellow Dart, Captain Melanie had regained her title with her ship and was grudgingly referred to as Captain once more. Jack was being very closed-mouthed about the origin of the letter and in particular the winged stag on the red wax seal, but it was clear that he knew the place to which he was directing Will and Captain Melanie's ship. Melanie, in contrast, could hardly have been called a closed-mouthed person about anything at all, and had been making it very plain for a very long time the fact that carrying Will towards his destination without proper payment or compensation ran against the very fiber of her being.  
  
"Carrying you towards your destination without proper payment or compensation runs against the very fiber of my being," Melanie made plain. She jabbed a finger in Will's direction and fixed him with a glare. "I hope you realize what gratuitous amounts of praise and favors you owe me."   
  
"I will pay you back in any way that I can," Will reassured her. "Though when that will be, I cannot say."  
  
Jack was stroking his little beard. "Well you know, mate, there are ways and ways o' repayin' favors on the lonely ocean."  
  
"And just how many of those ways do not require both a cot and a few free minutes between watches?" Melanie inquired with an arched eyebrow.  
  
"Not many," admitted Jack with a small smile.  
  
The difficulty now comes not in determining who was the most embarrassed - the flustered William or the amused Melanie - but comes in assessing why Jack said what he did. As will eventually prove true with Carly's determination to restate her claim on the bird Pip, a good subplot (or even a moderately interesting one) is never really forgotten. At the most, it is carefully and temporarily placed to one side, and may be glossed over by more important events and overshadowed by more interesting developments. But it is not forgotten.  
  
In this same vein, Jack had not forgotten his previous interest in making Captain Melanie his new first mate - by fair play or otherwise - but had put the idea out of his head temporarily while other things had been occupying him. Things like meeting the Dread Pirate Roberts. Things like being marooned. Again.   
  
There were few things that Captain Jack Sparrow despised more than being marooned somewhere - anywhere. He was certain that he would feel similarly if someone stuffed him into a dark box. He needed space in which to roam, he needed -  
  
Ah, but there he went again, he thought, and caught himself. Jack could admit that having a long attention span was far from a prerequisite for becoming a pirate. On the contrary, for a buccaneer, it was a positive boon to shoot and slash first and ask questions later, if at all. And Captain Jack Sparrow would not have called himself other than one of those pirates. Usually. He did not like to admit that there was a useful piece of machinery underneath his hat - advertising it could cause his scallywag brethren to become distrustful and uncooperative - but there was. And it was in motion now.  
  
He had told Gibbs that he 'had his ways,' and this was not untrue. Women, he was certain, were all filled with desire for him, though whether it was desire to bed him or slap him was something that he did not care to determine. It was enough that they gravitated towards him, and he could go from there.  
  
But Melanie Cash was turning out to be a different- no pun intended - story altogether. Many years ago, they had been members of the same crew on the ship the Dusky Raven. Jack had only been on the ship a short time - he was hired on as an extra hand as he was making his way between ports - but it was long enough to meet and come to know the then young and haughty Melanie Cash. He had remembered her as well as any rarity such as a female pirate is remembered, and saw her briefly and randomly over the years - briefly enough that they had spent nights together, but randomly enough that they had continued on their way the next days without a look backwards. But now he was spending a large amount of time with her, and the blasted woman still hadn't succumbed to his by-no-means-insignificant charms. All he had to do was look to the gratuitous amounts of fan mail that he received to confirm that he hadn't lost his touch.  
  
Oh well, he thought, and looked out over the water. There was time enough. Although the more he thought about it, the less true that actually seemed to be. Jack gingerly touched his jacket pocket and felt the envelope nestled there. It was far from easy to return to a place that he had long left behind, and purposely left behind, but now here he was, aiding Matthew and Gibbs in adjusting sails to catch more favorable winds to bring them to that place. Some days he was certain that he was going mad.  
  
Well ... madder. 


	22. A Brush with the Black Beast

Author's Note - I don't own this or that and I especially don't own the legendary Black Beast of Aaauugh, but let me tell you that if they were offering tours of Terry Gilliam's brain, I would be first in line.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Two  
  
It was night. It was night because time had passed. And maybe almost enough time had passed that the Yellow Dart was very close to wherever it was that Jack was directing her. One can only and desperately hope.  
  
Time was funny when you sailed, thought Captain Melanie Cash, and adjusted the wheel under her hands. The only thing that marked it was the rise and set of the sun: there were no landmarks to reach or to pass, and if there were they would be useless during the night anyway, when the vast expanse of blue deepened into a vast expanse of black and there was no difference between the water and the sky. There were only stars - stars to assure you that your eyes weren't closed; stars that stabbed through the dark and spun over your head.  
  
How was it, Melanie often wondered, that so much trust could be placed in something that was so distant and unfeeling? In something that might not even be real? To navigate at night meant you had to read the stars and mark a path beneath them. To navigate was to trust them and to accept their far-away glow as guidance. Melanie had learned, after long years of cruising across the black depths while they wheeled above, that their voiceless winks and shimmers did speak truth to a proper listener or observer.   
  
But on those same travels she had also learned that earthly bodies often did not prove as trustworthy as the celestial ones. On the travels where she had learned to read and watch the heavens, she had learned that it was both possible and wise to do the same to people.  
  
And here had come Dana Flint.  
  
Will appeared at ease enough with the young woman, but Melanie reminded herself that the relatively naive blacksmith, while certainly sharper than many, had not been raised a pirate - it was trust that people drew out of him before his cutlass, not the other way around. That was not only a shame, it was something that might soon prove to be disastrous because already Flint was aboard the ship. The Yellow Dart shuddered gently and moaned in her sleep, and Melanie adjusted the wheel again. Hair that the captain could not see whipped around her face as the night wind pulsed against the Dart's sails. Her ship's sails.  
  
Melanie could not say what it was about Flint that bothered her, nor what it was that had unsettled her sleep to the point that she had taken the helm from Jack and sent him to early bed. But there was something in the way the woman's coat fell about her, in the way she angled her cap down over her eyes, and in her quiet observance of Jack that Melanie had seen and recognized: there was more to this Flint than the lass let on, she was sure. Perhaps more than even Will could see.  
  
No doubt time and the stars would tell, but the mistress of the Yellow Dart has not acquired her position by waiting with wide eyes and bated breath. She made up her mind to speak with Flint at her first opportunity on the morrow.  
  
~  
  
"... yo ho, a pirate's life for me," he finished to the polite applause of Will and Melanie. The singer bowed graciously, and made as if to tip a non-existent hat.  
  
"What a lovely baritone voice you have, Gibbs," Melanie remarked. "That song was truly meant to be sung by you."  
  
A short distance away and perched on the side railing, Jack snapped his head around at that casual comment, causing his beads to jangle and the little Carly to jab him in the side with a finger.  
  
"You're s'posed to be teachin' me, mister Sparrow."  
  
Jack turned back to her with a smile that was not entirely apologetic. He raised his eyebrows and gestured, imploring her. "Do forgive me, my dear. But it seems that impetuous bearded wretch over there has stolen my song." Carly shook her head  
  
"The nerve."  
  
"Agreed, darling. The nerve. Now where were we?"  
  
It so happened that where they were was in the midst of a lesson on sleight-of-hand. On the condition that Milton sit elsewhere - indeed, the monkey had been dozing on Melanie's shoulder and was startled awake by her clapping - Jack had agreed to teach Carly the fine art of taking an object into one's hand and making it 'disappear.' She had become interested in it after he and Will had entertained the crew the previous evening by telling them the story of their adventure with the Black Pearl and the demise of Barbossa. Carly had instantly picked up on the merit of having the talent of making things invisible in one's hands, especially if Jack had been able to use it in such a creative way, and she had begged to be taught.  
  
So Jack now produced a coin and passed it over each of his ringed fingers to Carly's delight, then flipped it back across the opposite way. While she continued to watch with bright eyes, Jack took the coin into his palm and closed his hand. When he opened it and flexed his fingers, the coin was gone and Carly's mouth was wide open.   
  
"Wow!" Jack looked pleased.   
  
"That's what I did. I can show you how, if you like." Carly nodded, and the coin reappeared in Jack's hand.  
  
"If you're going to be giving lessons," said Dana Flint from over Jack's shoulder, "I would love to be in on them." Jack heard the clack of boots on the deck and looked up to see her peer into his hand. "Useful talent, that." Melanie glanced over. This was Flint's first appearance of the day. Apparently she and Gibbs had discovered one of the Yellow Dart's kegs of ale the evening before and had not found it particularly necessary to rise early the next morning.   
  
While the little pirate was virtually vibrating with excited anticipation, Jack regarded Dana. "It's kept me out of a spot or two." He winked, and Dana settled herself atop a crate.   
  
He then proceeded to demonstrate how the coin had disappeared, and if anyone out there knows how it was actually done, please don't hesitate to tell me. Seriously. I thought it would be cool to talk about, but now I have no idea. No idea. None.  
  
Well ... this has gotten a little awkward, hasn't it? I mean, being that the author is supposed to be all knowing and everything. Huh.   
  
Does anyone else hear crickets?  
  
Yeah. It's time for a sea monster.  
  
Suddenly - and it had to have been 'suddenly' because anything like 'slowly but surely' or 'casually' would naturally have been of great insult to the name of such creatures - a sea monster roared up out of the water. It emerged to the side of the Yellow Dart in a great eruption of foam and water and loud guttural sounds.   
  
"Roar!!" the monster roared with an impressive double-exclamation mark, and simultaneously got the deck all wet, took the heat off of the incompetent writer and spoiled the pleasant afternoon. It closely resembled 'the legendary Black Beast of Aaauugh' from Monty Python's movie "The Quest for the Holy Grail," which had also been a clever tool of distraction.  
  
As such, it was all horns and teeth and eyeballs, and shook its bearded chin menacingly at the crew who had been politely waiting for the author to finish before they acknowledged it. It thrashed about in the water and its bulk caused the Yellow Dart to bob and lean to one side. Will and Dana, though land lubbers they were not, had never had the opportunity to come into contact with such a creature and were appropriately terrified.   
  
"What in the HELL is that?" Dana cried, and quickly removed herself from the railing at the side of the ship. Carly had disappeared into the rigging in less time than it took for the creature to swing its head around to track her, and so Jack was left as the closest bipedal morsel . He was on his feet with his sword in hand and oriented it at the snout of the monster very fast. The coin had not left his other hand.  
  
"That," Jack called to her, "is a sea monster! A large and evidently rather toothy one."  
  
"I can see that, thank you!" Dana snapped back, and drew her pistols.  
  
Melanie had a firm grip on her own sword. "Into just what waters have you been leading us, Mister Sparrow?" While the captain did not seem overly panicked, both she and Matthew were very white. Gibbs and his lovely baritone voice looked ill, and Jones and Carine had been discussing the finer points of the restaurant business until they were both sprayed with sea monster water and abruptly decided to never serve fish again.  
  
The monster heaved itself upwards until Jack was covered completely by its shadow. It shifted its gaze from the pirate with the shining metal below it to the figure in the hat and billowing coat that held no weapon it recognized, and its decision was not a difficult one. With a bellow, it descended upon Dana Flint.  
  
Dana had not expected this. In fact, she was having difficulty convincing herself that the ghoul that loomed before her was ~real~, never mind opening its gaping mouth to take her in. Sea monsters were from storybooks. But before she was eaten with this last thought in her head, a flash of gold traveled across the monster's field of vision and it turned its head to the side to follow. Dazed, Dana watched Jack charge up to the monster after tossing his coin and reach over his head to stick his sword in its neck. Melanie raced across the deck with a cry, leaving Matthew and Gibbs at the helm. A startled Will found his swords in his hands and convinced himself that, given the situation, they might come in handy. He joined Melanie and Jack before the sea creature's face.   
  
While the rest of the crew of the Yellow Dart scrambled to keep the ship afloat, the monster abandoned its hunt for the gold piece and twisted its supple neck around so that it could glare properly at its attackers. Jack hauled his blade out of the neck that he had pierced and was drenched with sea monster blood. There came a loud squeal from the creature, and Melanie and Will brought their swords down to bear on its sensitive snout, which was something that it did not care for. At long last, Dana found a grip on her bearings and unloaded both her pistols at the creature - one shot of which tore through its little ear while the other was embedded solidly in its chin.  
  
It roared and whipped its head from side to side and in doing so, flung Melanie's sword into the sea. Will again slashed at its nose, and the sword-less Melanie swiftly punched the monster in one of its many eyes with a sharp "Hee-YAH!" that startled everyone. But it did the trick, because the cousin of the legendary Black Beast of Aaauugh had been finally been upset to the point that it decided it did not care for its current company and descended back into the sea.   
  
The whole ordeal had not lasted long, but Melanie, Will and Jack watched its horned head disappear before relaxing. Melanie turned to survey her ship. She looked pointedly at Dana.   
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Dana nodded slowly. She glanced quickly towards Jack, who was making a face at the mess that covered his cutlass. "You saved me from being eaten," she said.  
  
"Don't think it didn't cost you," Jack replied. "You owe me that shilling." While Will took Jack's sword to examine it, the pirate addressed Melanie. "Wonderful performance darling, really quite remarkable. But may I inquire as to the nature of that last exclamation?"  
  
Melanie tried to remember what it was Jack was referring to, then looked sheepish. "Oh that. Well, a pirate's got to have a full resumé. I can use more than shot and sword to defend myself."  
  
While Jack and the rest of the crew had a good laugh, Will peered over the bowsprit. "Look!" he called. "I can see land!"  
  
"Wot a stroke o'luck!" Carine agreed as she wrung out her hair. "Imagine, tha', findin' land just as we 'ave no more sea creature t'face."  
  
"And what's more," Melanie remarked, "it appears that the ship is completely undamaged!"  
  
There was a great 'hooray!' from the crew and from Gibbs' lovely baritone voice, and both Jack and Gibbs were very grateful to have found themselves on such an efficient and entertaining ship as the Yellow Dart - though neither of them ever ate fish again. 


	23. Bigger, Better and More Colorful than To...

Author's Note - Eeep. Her birthday is so soon. Time to lasso my muse!  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three   
  
The island that had jumped conveniently closer during the distractions of both night and the encounter with the black beast was not large, and it seemed even smaller because there were so many buildings on it, all crammed together helter skelter and seemingly without rhyme or reason. From what Melanie could discern through her little scope, there was a small inlet harbor which looked to be quite crowded, and was set against a backdrop of greenery and mountain that might have been picturesque if not for the architecture around and on top of it. She could see colored tents and streamers in the deepening dim of the late afternoon.   
  
"What else do you see?" asked Jones. Those crewmembers with jobs that could be placed temporarily aside for the sake of dialogue all lined the railing of the Yellow Dart and peered ahead at the island.  
  
Before Melanie could reply, the lookout Monica cried down from the crow's nest: "It looks t'be a carnival, cap'n!" Melanie removed the scope from her eye, shook it, then shook her head, and replaced it in the folds of her skirt. Monica and her eyes. She turned to Jack.  
  
"You've been here before, haven't you?" Jack, who had been pointedly avoiding looking at the island, nodded silently. He was carefully scrubbing sea creature blood from his leather coat. His closed mouth did not go unnoticed.  
  
Will left the railing to speak with his friend. "I want to thank you for bringing me here, Jack," he said quietly. "If you don't want to continue on, you can always leave after I'm ashore."  
  
After a moment, Jack met Will's eyes from under his dark lashes. "Don't get me wrong lad. There was precious little nobility in my decision to come wi' you, but we're mates, you and I." He focused again on his nearly clean jacket. "Having said that," he continued softly, almost soundlessly in comparison to the mutterings of the Yellow Dart, "what you do next is up to you." The wind rose slightly and ruffled Jack's white shirt and Will's loose hair. The cry of gulls grew louder as they approached civilization and people. The sun was setting and the sky was afire with its dying embers.   
  
Take that, Professor Srebrnik.  
  
Jack sighed and raised his voice so that he could address everyone. "This island," he began, "is indeed a carnival island. It has gone by many names in the past. For the sake of clarity for you scallywags, I will refer to it as ... Carnival Island." Jack looked around at those he was speaking to. Only Dana Flint did not seem to be paying attention - with her arms crossed and the brim of her hat nudged down over her eyes, she looked to be asleep. Melanie had noticed this, and Jack noticed Melanie noticing this. You've noticed it now, too.  
  
He slid his arms back into his jacket and produced Will's envelope from his pocket before he continued. "You've been directed here because I recognized this wax insignia - " he indicated the winged stag, "- as one of those of this island. Now, we all know that we're here because of William's father, or because we're getting paid by someone who's here because of William's father. And I certainly think that if I were to rise from the dead, a carnival is the first place that I would go, too." He paused for laughter. "Though my own personal acquaintance with this place has in the past been one of business instead of pleasure, it is indeed a sad life that has never breathed deep the sweet, proliferous bouquet that is Carnival Island, savvy?"  
  
Will frowned. "But what about - "  
  
"Tortuga?" Jack finished for him. "This is a different sort of place than Tortuga, lad. Think of it as ... bigger. Better. More colorful. Real animals instead of people who resemble them." As Jack spoke, the Yellow Dart passed into the edges of the island's harbor and came into view of the signs posted all along the shore, and behind him passed a large white billboard with a speech bubble issuing from the mouth of a deer with little stars and moons above his head. The deer looked drunk, and in the speech bubble were the words:  
  
"WELCOME TO CARNIVAL ISLAND, THE ISLAND THAT'S BIGGER, BETTER AND MORE COLORFUL THAN TORTUGA! WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY!"  
  
And underneath, in smaller letters:  
  
"Now with more animals!"  
  
The crew chuckled, and Jack looked over his shoulder and saw the passing sign. He grinned sheepishly. "Well, I'm sure you'll all be reading the tourist pamphlets anyway, so I need not say more than for you to mind your purses, and not make yourselves sick on sweets and popped corn." He winked. "That's what the ale is for."  
  
In high spirits, the crew scurried about to moor the ship. Now that they were close to the island it was possible to hear circus music and the laughter of children. A family-friendly Tortuga, Melanie thought as she looked around with a wry smile, with a circus and big-top for the kiddies. It was almost too much. She would have been more excited about the island and more prepared to have fun at the expense of William's coin, if not for the nagging doubt that remained about Flint. The Captain of the Yellow Dart was unhappy that she had not yet spoken to her, but the voyage to Carnival Island had not produced any of the calamities that Melanie's instincts had cried out about. Perhaps it had been the sea monster, she thought. That close encounter had left the already shy Dana Flint rather silent.  
  
So everyone wandered onto the island to be met with smiles from the locals, who were dressed in ridiculous costumes. Will was all grins when he was stopped to have his face painted by an attractive young woman. When she finished, he turned to Jack and Melanie. "Well?"  
  
"She's made you look like a clown, mate,' said Jack while Melanie almost laughed herself sick. When she noticed that Jack was not joining in, she elbowed him.  
  
"Oh come on, Sparrow. It's supposed to be fun!"  
  
Jack simply shrugged. "Darling, I used to be employed 'ere. I've seen all the thrills that they've got to thrill you with." Melanie stuck out her tongue at him and accepted her own face-painting so that she too looked like a clown. She linked arms with the smug Will as they continued to stroll down the street.  
  
They waited patiently at an intersection for an elephant and its costumed rider to make their way past. The crowd on the street was not as thick as it had been in Tortuga, and Will fancied that he could actually take a step without running himself into someone's way or onto the point of their dagger. Jack was not yet impressed by anything but was on the lookout for familiar faces. Melanie was making an effort to keep track of the colored tents that they had passed by in their meandering, but soon privately admitted that they were lost amidst the carnival-jungle.   
  
"Where's Dana?" asked Will after a while. He was in the middle of eating what appeared to be a large mess of colored cotton, or candied cotton, or colored cottoned candy on the end of a stick. It was pink and there was some in his hair. "I hope she's having fun, too."  
  
Melanie glanced around and spied Dana talking with her head bent to a street vendor. She narrowed her eyes and strode over. "What's keeping you, Flint?"  
  
Dana looked startled. "I was just ... buying this map." She held up a folded parchment. "You can't be too careful around places like this."  
  
"That's right," the scruffy vendor snickered and winked. "Careful." Melanie thought she saw Dana kick him under his table, but she could have been mistaken.   
  
Fun street and circus adventures happened after that, and plenty of them, let me tell you. But the night wore on and the four naturally grew hungry for food and thirsty for drink and antsy for bathrooms - it was a carnival. They halted their tour of the island, considered that it would be better to halt somewhere other than the middle of the street in the path of an oncoming parade and sidestepped to the road's edge, then decided on a plan of action.  
  
"I think," Dana said mysteriously, "that we should eat here." She pointed to a location on the map that was out of the main body of the circus goings-on.   
  
"Sounds good to me," said Will trustingly.  
  
"I'm savvy," remarked Jack indifferently.  
  
"Why not?" asked Melanie suspiciously. And they all ambled down the road in a manner that can in no way be interpreted as rushed or lacking adequate motivation and description, even though the deadline for the end of their adventure was looming near. Very, very near. 


	24. Accents are Funny Like That

Author's Note - Couldn't resist, mate.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Four  
  
Jones and Carine finished their duties aboard the Yellow Dart and straightened up. Pip fluttered down onto Jones' shoulder while the two looked about at the empty ship around them.  
  
"Do you suppose that they've forgotten about us?" asked Jones.  
  
Carine looked angry. "Ooo, I 'ope not. There's no' a lot tha' I wouldn't give t'see Will wif cotton candy in 'is 'air."  
  
Jones could only nod. He had no idea what Carine had just said. Accents were funny like that. 


	25. At the 'Not Exactly a' Pub

Author's Note - O_o  
  
Chapter Twenty-Five  
  
The place that they ventured into could not exactly be called a pub, because a name like that does not really scream 'family-friendly.' But just because it couldn't have the name of a pub in no way meant that it couldn't ~act~ like a pub, and so when Will, Jack, Melanie and Dana entered, you guessed it: smoke in the air and beer on the floor and people under the tables and all that. There was, however, an interesting difference to this not-exactly-a-pub. At the front of the main room, there was a stage.  
  
The four settled themselves around a table. Jack wasted no time and ordered four drinks, then asked the others if they would like anything. Melanie and Will politely declined - Will was secretly afraid he would get something else in his hair - and Dana wordlessly pulled her own flask from inside her coat. Then, before anyone could question just what they were doing running around in the Carnival instead of looking for signs of Will's father, the lights of the not-exactly-a-pub dimmed and the stage was brightened.   
  
Into the light stepped a rather striking figure. Amidst catcalls and hoots, the collective eyes of the audience travelled up the divine creature's shapely legs, over the quaint hips, up the tummy and generous chest and rested on the heavily made-up but far from unattractive face. Full red lips eased into a sultry smile, one great blue eye winked from a face framed with blonde curls, and a dulcet voice said:  
  
"How about a song?"  
  
There were cheers from the crowd. Melanie looked from the completely engrossed William to the smirking Jack, then back towards the stage as the lovely singer inhaled dramatically and chest-flattering-ly. And before you ask, yes, I'm allowed to make up words like that.  
  
The singer took such a breath, then started to sing:  
  
"Some things in life are bad,   
  
They can really make you mad ...  
  
Other things just make you swear and curse.  
  
When you're chewing on life's gristle,  
  
Don't grumble, give a whistle,   
  
And this'll - " she winked, "- help things turn out for the best,  
  
And .... "  
  
"Always look on the bright side of life!" the audience responded with enthusiasm and raised their mugs in the air. The more inebriated just sort of stuck theirs out in a direction.  
  
Jack was among these. He bopped his mug into the side of the head of a man at an adjacent table, but for the sake of time constraints, we'll assume that the man was skinny, nervous and easily dominated. For instance: "What's the score here?" Jack murmured when the man spun around to find his assailant. The pirate narrowed his oh-so-dark eyes. "What happens now?" The man squeaked and fled. Ah, for all life to be so easy.  
  
The voluptuous performer had now stepped down from the stage and was continuing the song throughout the room. "Always look on the bright side of life," the patrons continued, everyone jeering, cheering and beer-ing, respectively. Now I would never be so anachronistic as to suggest that the best analogy for this scene would be to imagine Ms. C. Diaz's performance at the C.C. Club in the movie "The Mask." That would be completely not allowed because everyone knows that they had no microphones back in the days of our friends Jack and Will. However, I'll leave the rest to your very capable imaginations. The singer slunk around the floor as the song was continued, and in the course of that slinking wound up in front of Will's chair.   
  
Hey now! None of that sort of thinking. This story is rated PG, remember? Sheesh.  
  
Keeping that in mind, the singer merely wiggled and shook and made Will salivate, while the angry screeches of Carine surely echoed in the distance. Melanie did her best to hide her chuckles behind her hand, but Jack Sparrow was not the sort of man who needed to make such pleasantries.   
  
He clapped Will on the back and nearly startled the open-mouthed young man out of his reverie. "I'll introduce you two after the show," Jack said loudly amidst the continuing catcalls of the audience. The singer turned from Will and angled, still singing, back towards the stage. Will, completely captivated, nodded.   
  
The show was over far too quickly for Melanie's taste, especially considering that Will had been her primary source of entertainment. When the singer disappeared behind a costume curtain and the lights in the not-exactly-a-pub were relit, Jack and Will were both smiling hugely.   
  
"That was amazing!" Will kept saying. "What huge ... talent she had! I mean really wonderfully big ... ambitions! That was fantastic!"  
  
Melanie laughed as Jack smiled at Will. "There's a lad. Saw yer first show an' enjoyed it mightily. That's the way." He glanced over towards Dana, whose booted feet were up on the table. "Have a good time of it, love?"  
  
Dana thought about it a moment and swirled around the remainder of her drink in her flask before swallowing it. "I think that I would have a better time of it if we all got up so that Will could meet this young ... woman." A look was exchanged between Jack and Dana then, and in Melanie's mind, Jack's face went from good-natured and knowing surprise to suspicion in a matter of moments. But his confusion was quickly forgotten when he drained his last mug.  
  
Well, Will thought, that was a smashing, simply corking idea (LOVE that expression, Karlyn - many thanks) and so they all stood or wobbled up and went over to the curtain behind the stage. Jack lifted a hand to knock, looked from his curled fist to the plush velvet curtain, then thought better of it and simply stuck his head inside.  
  
There came a muffled shriek, and Dana, Melanie and Will were all very correct in thinking that they heard Jack's beads jangling from his face being slapped. Besides, that hadn't happened yet in this story. Jack spoke a few indignant words before pulling back his head to speak to the others.   
  
"This lovely creature would be happy to meet with us, William," he said with an odd smile. "We should seat ourselves and wait for ... her, to be finished changing." Will happily agreed, so back again they went to the table, up again went Flint's boots, and down again went another drink for Jack. Then Melanie did something that would prove to be one of the biggest mistakes in Jack's life.   
  
In retrospect, it was completely understandable: she had been working long hours, had traversed the entirety of Carnival Island whilst keeping one eye on Flint and the other on Will (to prevent him from getting other confectionaries in his hair) ~and~ the evening was drawing to a close. But when the captain and pirate mistress of the Yellow Dart yawned ...  
  
... it all went to hell after that. 


	26. Pirates are Funny Like That

Chapter Twenty-Six  
  
Matthew and Gibbs finished their drinks inside the pub and looked around. There was no sign of the captain or of Jack Sparrow.   
  
"Do you suppose they've forgotten about us?" asked Matthew.  
  
Gibbs looked thoughtful. "I certainly 'ope not. I'm s'posed to be 'elpin' Jack wif summat, but for mother's luv, I can't recall wot it were ..."  
  
Matthew could only nod. He had a perfect idea of what Gibbs had just said, but fortunately the serving girl was back with fresh drinks before either of them decided it was necessary to get up and do something about it. Pirates were funny like that. 


	27. You Probably Guessed It

Author's Note - You probably guessed it.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Seven  
  
As though it had been choreographed, the Not-Exactly-a-Pub was simultaneously emptied and refilled. The merriment-making patrons stopped mid-laugh and mid-groan and disappeared. They were immediately replaced by clowns - grinning, iridescent-costume-wearing, pancake makeup made up clowns with brilliantly colored shocks of hair and dazzlingly white pointed teeth. They produced pistols, and the pistols were trained on our heroes' table.  
  
Man, I freakin' HATE clowns.  
  
In one smooth motion, Dana Flint was out of her seat with both pistols drawn. They were both immediately aimed levelly: one between Captain Melanie Cash's eyes, and one between Jack's. To their credit, neither flinched, although Jack had been in the middle of taking a drink so he probably shouldn't get so much credit. Dana spoke softly in the room's new silence.  
  
"I'm going to ask you not to be brash," she said. "Especially you, Jack. It wouldn't do to damage the cargo that I've been working so hard to ensure arrived here." Her gaze rested on him briefly. He was regarding her with bloodshot eyes that didn't appear to be altogether focused. She turned to address Melanie, who was grinding her teeth and glaring. Ooo, if looks could kill!  
  
Dana offered her a small smile. "I honestly didn't think that we'd have to travel across the entire Carnival before you let your guard down. I've been waiting for hours." She gestured around the room with the gun that had been pointed at Jack. The pistol before Melanie never moved. "You see, almost everyone here works for me. And my job is to make sure that I make my deliveries on time. Right now, we're a little late because I didn't expect the good Captain Cash to be so vigilant, but that's okay." She winked. "You were good. Didn't trust me for a moment."  
  
Will was incredulous. "WHAT?"  
  
Dana spoke without looking at him. "I'm sorry, Will. I really am. But your father isn't alive."  
  
"How do you know that?!"  
  
"Well, firstly, your father wasn't sent simply into the water for years while he was cursed," she said patiently. "The movie script purposely added in the words 'crushing black depths'. That means squished - curse or not." Will was trembling with rage.  
  
"And secondly," she continued, smiling widely now. "Secondly, I'm the one who wrote your letter. I'm the one who sealed it with wax with the insignia of this island. Don't tell me you didn't notice how the letter arrived when I did. Even I thought that was a stupid plan. But what works, works. All the better to get you here."  
  
Will's face was dark, and Melanie could not guess what it was that kept him in his seat instead of leaping across the table at this woman. "But we were friends, Dana."  
  
Dana Flint's strong demeanor flickered for a second, then she regained her composure. "I regret if this changes that. But this is what I do."  
  
"What do you want with me? Why did you bring me here?"   
  
"Oh you shouldn't be concerned about that, Will. It's Jack Sparrow that I'm being paid to deliver, not you. You were just the bait, and dear Captain Cash here was just a little tug on the line. You're both free to go home anytime or to stay and enjoy the hospitality of our little island. But if you'll excuse me - " she motioned a pair of the scary clowns over. Each took a hold of one of Jack's arms and hauled him to his feet. Led by Dana, they started to lead him out the door.  
  
Unable to contain herself, Melanie exploded with anger. "He saved your life!" she cried.  
  
Dana paused in the doorway. She did not turn. "Don't think that I don't remember that," she said. She sounded pained. "But my job is my job, and I deliver what I'm paid to deliver." And with that, Dana Flint and the captive Jack Sparrow were gone into the deep of the Carnival night, leaving the unbelieving Will and Melanie behind. 


	28. Eric the Eunuch

Author's Note - Fiddle dee dum .. fiddle dee dee ... Eric the half a bee ...   
  
Chapter Twenty-Eight  
  
"You're saying that ~what~ happened?" The little waif Carly was trying to be patient with Will and with her captain, but as far as grownups went, these two were not really being very clear. "Jack's gone?"  
  
"Jack's been kidnapped," Melanie corrected hurriedly. "Dana Flint's taken him to someone or somewhere, and we have no idea where to find him."  
  
Early rays of sun were beginning to peer over the edge of the mountains as the morning dawned on the three who were standing outside the pony-rides where Carly had spent her evening. Will and Melanie had found her there, waiting for them to open again, and had filled her in - as best as they were able - on what had transpired the night before.   
  
As their news finally sunk in, the little girl's bottom lip started to quiver. "No more Jack?" Her eyes threatened to well up with irresistible little girl tears, and Milton made mournful sounds from atop her head.   
  
Will knelt down in front of her. "No, no. Not necessarily. All we need to do is ~find~ Jack, and then we can worry about rescuing him." He exchanged a glance with Melanie. "That's why the captain said we should come to you. Aren't you the one who's good at finding lost things and helping people?"  
  
She nodded, and swiped an arm across her moist eyes. "That's true, yes."  
  
"Well, then there's no need to be worried. If you find Jack and leave the rest up to us, I'm sure he'll be back in no time at all." Will smiled warmly at her, and as much as the little pirate often found it hard to understand her captain's and the female members of the crew's fascination with icky boys, she certainly thought that she could grow to like this one. She would help.  
  
Now that they were a Jack-Rescuing Team, the three needed someplace to start. And Will knew the perfect place. Back they went to the Not-Exactly-a-Pub. Before Melanie could inquire as to what they were doing there again - like any rational human being, she had become extremely leery of clowns - Will was holding up a hand and explaining.  
  
"The singer," he began, "knew Jack - Jack was going to introduce the two of us." He looked briefly dreamy, and then shook his head as if to clear it. "I think that Dana also knew the singer, because she thought that we should meet, too. If that singer knows them both, maybe she knows something that can help us out."  
  
Melanie rolled her eyes, but did not argue. For once, perhaps it was best for her just to play back up and let Will do the investigating. All of this was technically his fault because after all, he was the one who had trusted Flint. They entered the smoky non-pub again and both kept a careful eye on the smaller pirate who had become extraordinarily chipper after it had been determined that Jack would be found. Carly bounded ahead of them, cleverly dodging the arms and legs of people in her path, and came to stop outside the velvety curtain from the night before. Will started to ask how she had known and it was Melanie's turn to hold up a hand. But instead of explaining, she only shrugged. "That's what we pay her for," was all she could say, and the blacksmith did not inquire further.  
  
Will leaned in close to the red curtain and cleared his throat. He had no desire to be slapped. "Yes?" asked an unfamiliar voice. A well-manicured hand parted the curtains and Will found himself face to face with the singer. She was even lovelier in person.  
  
"Um," managed Will.  
  
One fine eyebrow arched. "Are you looking for someone?" Will surely would have continued to be smitten if not for something that unsettled him. Something was different about this woman now, something -   
  
He had it. "Your voice," he said. "You ... don't sound like a woman!"  
  
"That's probably because I'm not onstage right now."  
  
While Will stood there with his mouth open in either shock or amazement or equal parts of each, Melanie extended her hand to shake the singer's. In it were several silver coins. "We'd like to talk to you, if we can." The singer glanced down at the proffered money, then smiled widely and shook Melanie's hand to take them.  
  
"I would love to chat. Give me just one moment, darlings."  
  
They were all settled at a table - NOT the same one as the night before because like any rational human being, Melanie had become extremely leery of clowns - when the singer emerged clothed in a red low cut gown with matching stockings and perfectly perfect hair. Melanie, conscious of her own rag-tag apparel, might have been jealous if not for the both the fact that she was a scallywag and didn't give a damn, and the strange feeling that this singer was not exactly what they appeared to be.  
  
Carly had no such qualms. She smiled brightly as the singer sat down. "This is my monkey, Milton. He likes to be pet by pretty ladies." The singer laughed and invited Milton to perch on the one shoulder that the dress material did not cover. He did, happily.   
  
"Now," the singer said demurely, "What was it that you wanted to speak to me about?"  
  
Before either Melanie or Will could get a word in, Carly interjected with: "How about first things first. It's mean to keep making that poor author refer to you as 'the singer' all the time. How about you tell us your real name?"  
  
"My name is Eric, but my stage name is Loretta."  
  
Melanie and Will gaped, but Carly went blithely on. "My name is Carly, Eric, and this is William and my cap - er, good friend Melanie." She giggled. "I think that William thinks you're pretty."   
  
Eric turned to Will and batted his eyelashes. "Well I'm flattered, darling. It's wonderful to have fans." Will made a sound like a strangled fish.  
  
Melanie somehow recovered her voice. "You give a very good performance, Eric - or, Loretta, or ... ?" The singer laughed.  
  
"Eric'll do, sweetheart. And thank you, I do enjoy my work. However, I don't think that's why you're here. How can I help you?" Will hadn't stopped yet with the garbled sounds, so Melanie spoke.  
  
"Last night ... there was an incident. I don't know if you saw what happened, but - "  
  
Eric's eyes were downcast. "I saw. I'm sorry, love. I saw what happened to that friend of yours. Fact of the matter is, I know Jack Sparrow, too. Very well in fact." Both Melanie's and Will's eyes went wide. Eric noticed this and laughed. "No, not like that. This story is rated PG, remember? No, Jack and I used to work together."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"Oh, we did odd jobs here and there until we found ourselves a regular employer." Eric laughed and fluttered a hand in front of his face. "I remember the day that Jack told our boss he was leaving. Ooo, he was maaaaad ..."  
  
Melanie leaned in close. "What employer would this be? Would they have a reason to want to kidnap Jack now?"  
  
Eric looked surprised. "Oh, I don't know about that, darling. All I remember is that when Jack left here he took something with him that he wasn't supposed to. Our employer was a collector you see, and he had this compass that Jack up and figured would be real handy." The singer laughed again. "Funny thing was, the damn thing didn't even work right, but Jack was willing to risk everything to have it. And that's when he left, years and years ago."  
  
Will's eyes were wide again, but this time from recognition. "That compass points to ... a very important place. Anyone would have had ample reason to want Jack if that compass used to belong to them." With visible difficulty, he met Eric's eyes. "Who was that employer?"  
  
As though imparting a great secret, Eric leaned in close. Carly thought his perfume smelled wonderful. "He runs the big top," said Eric quietly. "And his name is - " An elephant trumpeted suddenly outside, but Melanie and Will were nodding already.   
  
Gosh, it sucks to be left out of things, doesn't it? 


	29. Her Employer

Author's Note - Uh oh, now we're in trouble. We've got disembodied voices here.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Nine  
  
"You're late."  
  
"That may be, sir, but he's here and so the job's done."  
  
"You bounty hunters - "  
  
"That's not what I am! I'm simply a gun for hire."  
  
"Fine then. You hired guns are all the same. You figure that rules don't apply to you because you don't think that anyone else can get the job done. You're lucky that I didn't deduct from your pay for making me wait."  
  
"From what you've told me, ~sir~, you've been waiting for years. I fail to see what affect an extra few days will have on your enterprises."  
  
"Maybe you're right, Flint. Maybe I'm just being impatient. But as the one who pays you, I get to decide what I am or am not. So maybe we won't argue about that, hmmm?"  
  
"Whatever you like, sir."  
  
"That's my girl. Now, are all his effects in order?"  
  
"I had the clowns do their search on him. Pistol, cutlass, coins and compass ... Nothing out of the ordinary. What is it that you're looking for? Perhaps I can persuade him to give it to you."  
  
"Perhaps you'll take your own advice, so to speak, and remember that the job is done. You're no longer needed here."  
  
"Well what are you going to do with him, sir? You've got your trinkets."  
  
"That is a job for someone else. That's for the clean-up."  
  
"What -"  
  
"You've been paid, Flint! Now is the time to make a graceful exit."  
  
"You aren't going to kill him, are you ... ?"  
  
"I think that's someone else's concern."  
  
"And I think you misunderstood me. I wasn't asking - I was telling. You ~aren't~ going to kill that man!"  
  
"Don't you flash around that metal at me! I can make your life very easy or I can make it very short! You've seen it, and on occasion you've done it for me to others. Don't try my patience any longer, gunslinger, because my professionalism only reaches so far. The Sparrow is mine, and I don't want to see you again." 


	30. Finding the ONE PLACE

Author's Note - Hey, wow. Thirty. That's like a milestone, or something.  
  
Chapter Thirty  
  
Now that they knew who it was that probably had Jack - it wouldn't have been fair to say who 'wanted' Jack because it's general knowledge that that number is somewhere in the tens of thousands - it would have been logical for the little waif Carly, Captain Melanie Cash and William Turner the blacksmith to need a plan of action. But they had better than that.  
  
They had a monkey.  
  
More specifically, they had Milton the capuchin monkey, and he had been trained by Carly. That meant several things. Firstly, it meant that his innate animal knowledge allowed him to assess that Jack completely disliked him and that it was only proper then for him have more affection for Jack than for any human being apart from Carly. Secondly, Milton was very keen on voice commands because Carly talked to him incessantly. And lastly, and because he belonged to Carly, there was no greater pleasure for him in the world than to play catch.  
  
A close relative of the game of catch is the game of hide and seek. Hide and Seek evolved from Catch when Catch rose out of the murky depths of the primordial-game-soup and decided that it was more fun to play with multiple people, and that it was even MORE fun to tease that person by not giving them what they were supposed to have caught. It was more fun to, say, hide it. So came the glorious dawn of Hide and Seek, and hundreds of years later, Carly was bent and speaking earnestly to an attentive Milton.  
  
She was holding a gold coin. "Milton," she said. "Look." She showed him the coin, and then with visible concentration, palmed it in an act of sleight-of-hand that would have made David Blaine proud. She displayed her empty hand to her monkey and he was properly astounded. "Now, find the coin, Milton! Find it!" While Melanie and Will looked on, the capuchin hopped about in obvious excitement but saw that he had no idea where to begin. He looked back to Carly.  
  
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Okay, Milton. I'll give you one hint, but it's got to be just the one. Jack has the coin. Now do you think you can find it?" He hopped about again and at a nod from Carly, he was off down the street.  
  
He was gone for two hours. When he returned and Carly scooped him gleefully into her arms, they all saw that his fur was coated in green cotton candy. While Carly stroked his head and pocketed the coin Milton held that had no doubt been nicked form Jack's pocket, Will was thoughtful.  
  
"What is it, Will?"  
  
He looked slightly sheepish. "I learned a few things yesterday, and most of them involved how not to get candy stuck in my hair." He cleared his throat. "But, in an act completely devoid of irrational coincidence or corner-cutting even though a certain someone has to go to a birthday in less than two hours, I know where this green cotton candy is from. It is only made in ONE PLACE."  
  
"One place?" Melanie asked.  
  
"No, you've got to say it properly. ONE PLACE."  
  
"Oh, okay. ONE PLACE. And you know where this ONE PLACE is?"  
  
Will nodded. "I'd bet my hat on it."  
  
Melanie chuckled. "Let's not be too rash, dear. I've heard about you and your love for that hat. Where is this ONE PLACE?" Instead of answering, Will took of at a trot down the Carnival Street, and the two ladies followed.   
  
It turned out the ONE PLACE was a big place. It was, appropriately, the big top, or the biggest tent on the entire island. Outside, people were selling green cotton candy. Adding that to the information from Eric about their adversary owning the big top, it was a safe bet that Jack was somewhere inside.  
  
Melanie tightened her boots and checked that the dagger in her sleeve came out smoothly. Will patted the sword at his hip that had never been mentioned but always assumed to be present. Carly bought herself some cotton candy.  
  
It was time for a little Carnival fun. 


	31. The Sting

Chapter Thirty-One  
  
There was nothing more useless, in Captain Melanie Cash's mind, than going through the effort of tightening one's boots and double-checking one's sleeved dagger if one's blacksmith partner decided that one should wait outside of the big top while he checked things out on the inside. Silly men.  
  
Carly, bless her little heart, had prudently decided that it would be best for everyone if she, say, went to watch the trapeze show. Melanie had obliged, thinking that she and Will were going to charge into some entertaining and well-written danger together. That had not turned out to be the case, and Melanie was crouching in the tall grasses at the side of the tent alone.   
  
Or so she thought.  
  
It did not take her long to decide that she was no longer by herself. Whoever was coming towards her through the grass made no motion to disguise the fact that they were coming towards her through the grass. The sound of parting greenery was soft compared to the hustle and bustle of the crowd waiting for admittance into the Big Top, but Melanie had the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox -   
  
- until she suddenly found a pistol poking underneath her chin. "You breathe very loudly," Dana Flint said conversationally. "Even if it were darker, I still could have shot you." The two women studied one another for a moment, until Dana heaved a great sigh and dropped her gun back into its holster. Melanie's eyes did not leave Dana's face, but neither did she make a move for her own weapon.  
  
"What ... what happened to you, Flint?"  
  
Dana touched her lip and eye briefly, then smiled with some pain. "The reason why I'm here with you, actually. Long story, and you may not believe me even if I told you."  
  
"I don't think you gave yourself those injuries."  
  
"You're right about that. Some of the lackey's of my ex-employer gave them to me."  
  
This gave Melanie pause. "Why would they do that?"  
  
"Something about them wanting to kill Jack didn't sit right with me, and I had the bad sense to let them know about it." Melanie started when she heard those words, but Dana calmed her with a hand. "It wasn't a part of my job, it wasn't a part of the deal at all. Boss said that he wanted something of Jack's, and I work on a very strict basis." She sounded bitter. "Allowing them to kill a man who saved my life was not part of the contract."  
  
"Is ... is Jack dead?"  
  
Dana made a face. "If he was, I don't think that I'd be here with you now, waiting to find out how to help him."  
  
Melanie nodded. She looked at Dana's face again. "Is your eye going to be okay?" It was very black and swollen.  
  
Dana tried to smile again. "Believe you me, Miss Cash, I need these eyes more than anything else that I've got. A gunslinger's no good if she can't see what it is she's supposed to be shooting." Dana eased herself into a sitting position beside the pirate. She nodded to the loaded dagger in the sleeve of Melanie's coat. "How come you haven't used that little contraption yet?"  
  
Melanie thought for a moment. "Back in the ... Not-Exactly-a-Pub, you told me that you knew when I didn't trust you." Dana nodded. "Then you must know that I don't ~not~ trust you now. I don't know why, just as I didn't know why I didn't trust you when I didn't. I suppose that it's just good for a pirate to have instincts. You seem reasonable."  
  
"May I tell you a story, Miss Cash?"  
  
"We've got some time to kill. Go ahead." Melanie sat down in the grass with her back to a tree and shut her eyes.  
  
"There was a frog and a scorpion," Dana began. "The scorpion wanted to cross a river, and so he asked the frog if the frog would carry him across on his back. The frog refused. 'If I let you get on my back while I swim across the river, you'll wait until I'm in the middle and away from shore, then sting me until I drown.'  
  
'That's unreasonable,' the scorpion replied. 'If I were to sting you as you carried me across the river, we would both drown.' So the frog thought about this, then agreed, and let the scorpion climb onto his back. The frog started to swim across the river, and when he reached the middle, the scorpion stung him.  
  
'But this is unreasonable,' said the frog as he drowned. 'Now you will drown with me.'  
  
'I can't help it,' replied the scorpion. 'It's in my nature.'"  
  
Melanie was slightly taken aback by the story and was going to tell Dana so. When she opened her eyes, however, she found herself looking into the dark eye of Dana's pistol for exactly half an instant.  
  
Then Dana Flint pulled the trigger. 


	32. Jarome Iginla?

Chapter Thirty-Two  
  
A lesser pirate would have peed themselves.  
  
But Melanie was a fantastic pirate. She had fought against sea monsters, survived countless misadventures on a countless number of exotic and abandoned islands, and regularly visited Tortuga. For pleasure. So when she opened her eyes to see the aim of Dana's gun, she did not pee herself.  
  
What she did, however, was scream.  
  
She shrieked and ducked her head, then dove at Dana Flint just as the gun went off. With gunsmoke in her eyes, she found herself atop of Dana and pulled back her arm, ready to dispense the dagger in her sleeve.  
  
"Cash!" Dana cried. "What are you doing?!"  
  
"What am I doing?" Melanie demanded. "What the hell was that?" With her other hand, she swiped the water from her tearing eyes and blinked rapidly to clear her vision. She saw Dana beneath her, and her hands were empty. Flint's pistol lay in the grass beside her head.  
  
Melanie narrowed her eyes. "What the hell did you just pull?"  
  
Dana displayed her empty hands. "Take a look behind you." Without allowing Dana to sit up, Melanie craned her head around. Beside the tree against which the captain of the Yellow Dart had been reclining against a moment prior, was the still-smoking carcass of a clown. Melanie, being a very rational human person who was leery of clowns, felt an enormous and inexplicable sense of relief. In the clown's hand was a cruel looking knife.  
  
It took Melanie a moment to find her voice. "You ... you just saved my life ... ? You just saved my life." Dana did not answer, and instead allowed Melanie to get up off of her and offer the gunslinger her hand. "I apologize."  
  
Dana brushed herself off and knelt to retrieve her gun. She suddenly started to laugh. "You know, I guess that ~would~ have looked pretty bad from your end!" The two laughed until tears of mirth ran down their cheeks, then caught their breath.  
  
  
  
"But wait," Melanie said when she was able to speak again. "You can't totally blame me. I mean, what the hell was with that creepy story?"  
  
"It was to make a very important point."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
Dana smiled widely. "Stories can be dumb. They don't have to make sense." As she said this, Calgary Flames team captain Jerome Iginla cruised by on his ice skates and offered them a wave and a grin, which they both returned. Dana continued. "Stories are for fun. And sometimes for birthdays."  
  
"That makes sense," said Melanie. "I think that I would like to dwell more upon the things that I've learned today, but how about right now, we go and kick some creepy-carnival-guy ass."  
  
"Agreed," agreed Dana. And without further discussion or description, they both ducked into the Big Top. 


	33. The Last and Final Chapter

Chapter Thirty-Three  
  
It's too bad that short stories don't have commercials. Not only could they rake in a lot of extra money for poor English majors that way, but it would also give us poor overworked and under-partied authors the opportunity to allow important plot events to happen without the audience having to actually see them. And, more importantly, the audience, upon seeing that commercial and coming back after the break, wouldn't be allowed to get mad.  
  
As it is, I just hope you'll forgive me.   
  
When Dana Flint and Captain Melanie Cash stood up inside the Big Top, they noticed something strange. It was completely empty, apart from a single ring in the lit center of the tent. In it, stood Jack and a man.  
  
What you missed while Dana was telling that wonderful story outside was Will charging into the tent, and slashing and bashing and dashing about with his shiny sword - all that to be tied up by a weight-lifter after, who stood with the bound and gagged William to the side of the tent and out of the spotlight. Such a shame.   
  
Carly and little Milton were caged in another corner of the tent. Both were pouting in a tear-jerking manner. Apparently Carly's afternoon of marveling at the trapeze was cut short. However, the little waif did not appear to be completely unhappy. She and Milton had been caged with the circus' Bengal tiger, and were seated comfortably against its happily-snoozing side.  
  
Carine and Jones, and Matthew and Gibbs had been Officially Forgotten About, being as they haven't been mentioned for many chapters, but they'll probably make another appearance ... presuming there is a story to return to.  
  
Finally, and standing in the way of our heroines and their Jack, was a fire-eater. This was no ordinary fire-eater. On his bare back he carried a metal backpack, which was connected by a hose to the stick in his hand. When Dana and Melanie entered, he shot some into his mouth and 'Roar!' went a stream of fire into the air. I'll bet it would be super impressive to see. I really hope you've got a good imagination.  
  
So.  
  
"I see you've returned, Miss Flint," the ringmaster said. As Melanie and Dana drew closer, they could see that he was an averaged sized man with pale skin and blue eyes. He appeared to be extremely hairy. Dana guessed that if one were to go to Edmonton with such a person, that person would probably leave ridiculous amounts of hair in the shower. She would have to yell for him to clean it out.  
  
"The only reason that I've come back," Dana called to him, "is to retrieve what doesn't belong to you. Are you all right, Jack?"  
  
Jack was smiling. "Nary a worry about me, lovies. Ol' Jack's perfectly perfect. I begin to suspect that I have merely been used as bait for this final and dramatic showdown between Melanie and the ringmaster. I've been a little bored to tell you the truth. Good thing this bloke here doesn't know how to use me compass." He winked. "He still thinks it's broken!"  
  
They all had a good laugh at the ringmaster's expense. His face became red. It was Melanie's turn to address him now. "I challenge you," she cried, "to a fight to the death, ringmaster Mike!" Ringmaster Mike pulled a sword from the sheath across his back, and stepped out of the ring to meet Melanie's blade.  
  
And that meant that Dana got to fight the fire-eater. That battle wasn't hard. She pulled out a gun, while he was warming up his fire device, thought better of it and pulled out her left gun in order to give herself more practice on her weaker side. The fire-eater was desperately pressing the button on his device to make it work, but there was something wrong with the fluid. Dana took her time, fired a clean shot at the fire-eater's chest, and sent him down to meet ol' Hob. Well, she would have if they had been on the ocean ... but it sounds nicer to say that than to say 'she shot and killed the bugger.'  
  
Melanie and Ringmaster Mike clashed sword against sword. Both were titans with their weapons. Both had finesse and skill. But, during the close of the battle, Melanie looked away from her opponent for one instant and into the eyes of Jack Sparrow, who was swaying in a slightly drunken manner in the spotlight.   
  
Their eyes met, and it cost Melanie.  
  
Well, it didn't cost that much. Ringmaster Mike disarmed her cleverly, and she was left standing without a sword. There was a very tense moment when all eyes were upon the mistress of the Yellow Dart and sweating with worry about what she would do. And then she did it, proving beyond all fear of contradiction that she could indeed defend herself without shot or sword.  
  
She kicked Ringmaster Mike in the crotch.  
  
The force of it sent him flying backwards. Quicker than quick, and never one to be outdone, Dana scooped up the fire-eater's backpack device, pumped the button, and aimed a stream of fire squarely at the Ringmaster as he sailed out and through the wall of the tent and set him ablaze.   
  
There was a great hooray, and everything went back to normal.  
  
~  
  
"I have a new song," said the newly Remembered Jones. "Would everyone like to hear it?" Everyone gathered around the table at the Not-Exactly-a-Pub cheered 'aye', including Captain Jack Sparrow and his new first mate Melanie Cash. Don't ask questions.  
  
To the tune of 'Hey, Ho to the Bottle I Go,' Jones began this fantastic song:  
  
"If ye seek those with a pirate's heart,  
  
Ye'd best find the crew of the Yellow Dart.  
  
If not emptying pockets or on the sea  
  
They'll be drunk with Caaaaaaptain Melanie!  
  
The Captain's sword and Dana's gun  
  
Make sure the exciting scenes are won!  
  
Hot guys times two,  
  
And a birdie too,  
  
Wish you were here?  
  
Of course you do!"  
  
And so it was that the cast and crew of the Yellow Dart passed on into legend - never to be forgotten. Well, at least until Melanie's next birthday. 


End file.
